Identity
by madame.alexandra
Summary: A distress signal reaches Coruscant after the Empire's demise, claiming to be the beacon of Bail Organa. What would the reappearance of Leia's adoptive father mean for her life in a post ROTJ context? What would he think of Han Solo, and what could he tell her about the dark shadow of her heritage? H/L; AU.
1. Prologue

.

* * *

 ** _Prologue*_**

 _[two months after  
the Victory over Endor.]_

* * *

Leia stood on the balcony of the vacation cabin in the Corellian mountains, her face turned into the breeze as it whipped through her hair. In the distance, the sun sank down quietly, and the call of some native bird pierced through silent dusk. She leaned into the wrought iron railing with her eyes lost somewhere faraway.

The second Death Star was obliterated, the Emperor dead, his legacy fractured beyond repair. The against-all-odds plan the Alliance had devised on the off-chance they actually slew the proverbial dragon had worked; Rebel generals had been poised to seize key Imperial operations centers on core planets, acting while chaos reigned and wrenching shaky control away from the oppressive regime while Palpatine's underlings started scrambling to consolidate control, while they battled for the crown. With different Grand Moffs claiming control and issuing confused commands, chaos had reigned. Coruscant had put up the most brutal fight, but had finally fallen. The Alliance leadership, now charged with re-establishing democratic legitimacy, and continuing aggressive campaigns against the disintegrating Empire, had chosen to retain that infamous red planet as the federal seat, and in the lull that followed, heroes had been ordered to rest – to _breathe_ , before reconstruction began.

Those who had been fighting and hiding for years sought out home worlds, and loved ones, and long-lost treasures; Luke returned to Tatooine to take care of his family estate, Chewbacca paid a much-needed visit to his wife and child, and Han – Han brought her here, to the hidden luxury of his native planet.

She'd hardly had a moment, as the meeting that issued them all a brief period of leave adjourned, to feel blindsided by the realization she had nowhere to go; he'd been lounging beside her for the announcement, and he said –

" _Want to go to some secluded resort on Corellia with me?"_

\- before she had a chance to feel lost, and isolated.

She went with him gladly; she saw his planet through his eyes – for the first time as a visitor and not a fugitive, as a tourist seeking solace, and not as a diplomat. For the past week, he had shown her hidden places – restaurants and bars that were slightly seedy, exquisite clothing shops, wild turf, and the streets he'd cut his scoundrel teeth on.

Alone on the balcony, she recalled the light in his eyes when he mentioned old friends or told old stories, the comfort in his step as he led her around. He was at ease here, completely himself – he was _home_ , and he shared it with her, without hesitation. She remembered what it felt like to _know_ a place so well, to _love_ a place so well, to feel like she _belonged_.

She missed it; oh she _missed_ it. She missed the snow-capped wonders of Alderaan, the lush forest floors – the beauty in the crystal-shimmering waters of the oceans, and the beauty in the _people._

It just hadn't settled, while the civil war raged, that not only had she lost her family, her friends, her people, and the physical planet itself – she'd lost the intangible emotion that she felt when she was _home_.

She bowed her head, breathing in this Corellian air, filling her chest with it until it ached. She closed her eyes tightly, willing the salty, stinging tears to stay hidden; she didn't want to scare him, to make him think she wasn't enjoying this.

"Hey."

Han's voice behind her was mild, quiet. She turned slowly, lifting her chin, and looked at him a moment – fresh out of the shower, he wore only low-slung trousers with the customary bloodstripe slashing the side. His hair still hung wet over his eyes as he ran a towel over his head lazily. She must not have composed herself as well as she thought; he caught sight of her face for a second, and crossed the balcony in two strides, the towel abandoned. His fingers brushed her neck, hands tilting her head up; his dark brown eyes swam with concern.

"What's the matter?" he asked intently, his eyes searching hers. "What happened?"

She tried to say it was _nothing_ , but her words choked her, and she bowed her head into his chest instead, a small sob escaping. Worried, his hand rested over the back of her head lightly, and he looked around, as if searching for a culprit for her pain.

She shook her head, swallowing hard a few times before looking up again.

"It's this place, Corellia – it's your home – "

"I thought you were enjoying it?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

She raised her hand to his brow, fingers tracing the wrinkled lines there. She nodded, silently begging him to understand.

"You know it so well," she whispered. "You know it in your mind, in your heart – it's in your _soul_ , Han," she said. "Watching you love this place – I _miss_ feeling that," she confessed; a raw confession, untamed. "I miss _my_ home," she choked.

His arms encircled her waist for a moment, pulling her close. Then, he lifted her, placing her on the balcony railing, his steady arms holding her there. Her knees pressed on either side of his thighs, and he met her eyes a moment in utter silence. He leaned forward, and pressed his lips to hers, lightly at first, then with firm passion, until she couldn't breathe.

"I'm sorry, Leia," he mumbled gruffly against her lips. His hand moved over her spine soothingly. "I'd bring it back if I could."

She put her hands on his shoulders and rested her head on him. The perch was precarious, but she trusted him not to let her fall, and she held her eyes shut tightly, her smaller body shaking. He knew there was nothing he could say to make it better, to ease the suffering; there was not much he could do but be there, and he'd never seen her cry quite so much at once.

"I want so badly to show you Alderaan, Han," she cried softly, nose pressed into his shoulder. "I want you _there_ , with me, like you have me here."

He kissed her shoulder, her temple, the top of her head; he tilted her head back, and kissed her lips again, catching her eye.

"You can tell me about it," he offered. "Everything you remember."

Her lashes covered her eyes a moment, and she looked pale.

"It's hard to talk about," she said shakily.

He nodded; that much he was sure of. She rarely spoke of her home world. She _never_ spoke her native language.

"I can't replace your home, Leia," he said, hand in her hair protectively. "I can try to give you another one."

He avoided the word _new_ ; it seemed too superficial.

Her dark, wet eyes met his.

"Corellia?" she asked hoarsely.

"Corellia," he said gruffly. "The _Falcon,_ " he listed. He shrugged. "Me."

She smiled at him then, a tentative one, a small one.

"Just you?" she asked.

"What more do you need?" he quipped, softly though, with care.

It had never occurred to him that bringing her here would evoke this kind of reaction; that sharing his roots with her would remind her of the sanctuary she'd lost. He'd only wanted to be alone with her, to escape from the chaos, to revel in solitude away from prying eyes.

His mouth found hers again, and she pressed herself into him, letting herself be lavished with affection, embracing his warmth, the steady rhythm of his beating heart.

"Maybe you're all I need," she said, eyes closed, kissing him again. Her forehead rested against his a moment. "I've felt empty for so long," she confessed softly. "It's not so bad when you're around."

She knew good and well that she couldn't rely on Han and Han alone to fix her; she knew she had to heal in other ways, to move forward, to live for the hope that was on the horizon, but if he meant to stay, if she knew he'd be there, it would all be a lot better. It had taken so much out of her to give into him, to admit to her feelings, and his reciprocation was the kind of uplifting thing she'd found at the end of fairytale books.

His lips brushed hers lightly; it send a shock through her spine, right to her fingertips, and her eyes flew open, finding him staring at her as if nothing else in the galaxy mattered to him, and she was overwhelmed.

"Say the word," he said, his voice low, "and we'll stay here forever," he swore.

They had done their part. The Empire was overthrown. The world unfolded in front of them.

"I have to go back," she said softly. "It's my life's work. It's all I have."

"You have me."

"Do I?" she breathed.

When the dust settled, when she returned to the New Republic – did he want to live the legitimate life, or was he a wanderer, a pirate through and through, who would grow restless with time?

Without a word, he nodded.

"Corellia's my planet, Leia," he said after a moment, his eyes narrowing intently. "It's not my home. I was a _smuggler_ ," he emphasized, smirking lightly. "A nomad."

Chewbacca had called him that often; he shacked up where it was safe, until it wasn't anymore, and then – he found a new place. Since Mos Eisley, since Yavin, since sticking with the Alliance – since meeting Luke, he'd stayed in _one_ place – so to speak – for longer than he had since he left the Academy, and it wasn't for political ideology, and with what they'd paid him, it sure as hell wasn't personal gain.

It was _her_.

She'd awoken something in him that he'd abandoned long ago, that hadn't reared his head since the fateful events that lead him to throw away a career for the sake of saving one enslaved Wookiee from a lifetime of indignity. He wanted to be where she was and hell, he even cared how this whole New Republic turned out.

She noticed his use of the past tense - _was_ a smuggler. She'd never thought of what he'd be when the war was won, because she'd never imagined seeing the war end in her lifetime. Yet here she was - young in her years, old in her soul, grappling with a bright horizon she'd never thought they'd win. She wanted to help build it. She _needed_ to help build it - but she wanted, and needed, him too, and if he was going to stay around even now, even when the Rebellion itself went totally legitimate, she had confidence it would all fall into place.

"It isn't going to be easy," she said.

He didn't know if she was talking about the political situation they'd face now, and the battles they still had to fight, or if she was talking about being with her, and he didn't try to find out. He said:

"I don't care."

She said:

"I wish you'd seen Alderaan," in a small, sorrowful voice, and he said, without hesitation:

" _You're_ Alderaan, Leia, don't you get that?" his eyes bore into hers. "It's part of you."

She swallowed hard, looking at him intently. She wanted to show him what they'd destroyed, but then, he was right – she could tell him. She could talk about it. She'd have to start, wouldn't she – or her culture would disintegrate, Alderaan's survivors, stranded throughout the galaxy, would have nowhere to turn if she kept looking everywhere but within herself.

She ran her hands through his thick hair, silken strands slipping through her fingers, and she wondered what the world would be like for them now, on the precipice of a new era free from the shadow of the empire.

"Leia," he murmured, trailing his lips from her throat to her jaw to her ear. "I love you."

"I know," she answered, feeling whole, feeling comforted – gone was the heavy sadness that had settled in her stomach thinking of what he had in his Corellia; replacing that was something ethereal, the warmth of knowing she could feel at home again – it was people, not planets, that ultimately defined home.

He cleared his throat softly, and pressed his lips to her jaw, his face impossible close to hers.

"Marry me, Leia," he asked simply – and for a moment, the world stood still.

She swallowed hard, her lips parting in surprise, and she was quiet while she read the sincerity in his eyes, the security there, the unspoken promise of commitment, fidelity – the future.

This momentary respite would be followed by more struggle, more bloodshed, more solidifying of Alliance control, but at least now she knew what her reward would be.

She said:

" _Yes_."

His lips captured hers again, and under the starry Corellian sky, she thought there was no more appropriate way to face the rise of a new age.

* * *

 _*yes, you've read this before; this was originally published as a one-shot called "Home." it fits too well with this story, though._  
 _a bit has been added or re-edited, but it's essentially the same. the two month timeline is arbitrary._


	2. One

**a/n:** and so we begin. a few notes: this story is operating on the following timeline:

 **ANH (0 ABY)** , then, three years later, **ESB (3 ABY)** , then, one year (ish) later, **ROTJ (4 ABY),** with Leia's age in ANH as 19, and her age finishing ROTJ (in my book, based on the assumption she has a birthday, as 23).

Thus here, I place her at **24**. not super important to the plot. hinted at in the prologue, the background is that the Rebellion had enough sense to plan for contingency if they did succeed in killing the Emperor, and had strategy in place to oust Imperials from strongholds and storm the Imperial Capitol. since Endor, they've been wearing down the last pockets of Imperial/Grand Moff power. some themes here are taken from The Courtship of Princess Leia, or Tatooine Ghosts, etc. (EU books) but the only canon ascribed to is the OT. things have "settled."

 **this story is AU.**

* * *

 _ **One**_

 _[one year + several months  
after the Victory over Endor]_

* * *

The apartment was dark; only the gentle humming of kitchen appliances, and the dull rush of lazy late night traffic outside the grand windows broke the calm silence of night. The safety and security the occupants felt was signified by half-open windows, left that way to allow cool air in, and a wide-open bedroom door, never shut these days because it didn't have to be; because this place was theirs, and theirs alone.

It seemed ludicrous it had taken this long for them to find somewhere to call home, but then, it had become all too clear all too quickly that the end of the second Death Star had not been the automatic end of the Galactic Empire.

When the center imploded; chaos reigned, and for months on end – _months_ – the plucky, underdog Alliance had fought an uphill battle, rooting out the remaining imperial strongholds, the dregs of Palpatine's bloody reign, while attempting to construct a new world order.

The difficult of such a monumental task had been brutal – still was brutal – and it was compounded by the fact that once it was upon them, it became almost comically clear that the Rebels had not quite expected to ever win their insurgency; the transition from illegal band of freedom fighters to builders of a legitimate democracy was stressful, daunting, and fraught with impediments.

The beauty of it, though; the beauty of it was that they were _succeeding_ ; through blood, sweat, tears – even some laughter, some occasional fun – they were progressing; still _winning_.

The new Galactic Republic was solidifying nicely; the curtain poised to rise on a hopeful era of _peace in our time_ – to put it in the verbatim words of Her Highness Leia Organa, Last Princess of Alderaan, in a speech she'd given just last week.

Peace, _peace_ – a delicate word, a concept that had been elusive for so long, and now it loomed ahead, the true arrival heralded by the return of mundane broadcasting over the holonet: watching the formidable princess herself sleep, Han Solo, Captain of the _Millennium Falcon_ and General of one of the New Republic's many militias, reflected on the amusing way in which Leia had told him, balefully, that this meant they had stabilized their galaxy at last.

It wasn't the apprehension and indictment of the last ultra-powerful Grand Moff holding out against democracy that signaled the end of turmoil, nor was it the fall of Warlord Zsinj at Han's hands, or the shattering of the pro-Imperial Mafias run by the Hutts – it was the fascination, the absolutely hysterical media _blitz,_ concerning the relationship between Leia and Han that put the secured state of things into perspective.

The uproar was _astounding_ ; it wasn't political, it wasn't bureaucratic or moral, it was pure and unrefined salaciousness: now, in the boredom of constructing a new galactic government, of endless hearings, treaties, and drawn-out speeches, people wanted _drama_.

To Han, it seemed absurd; the true breadth of the galaxy usually slipped his mind, and in his world, no one batted an eyelid at Leia on his arm, Leia at his side; the whole damn rebellion had known before he did - _definitely_ before she did -

To Leia, it was a hassle, a burden, a reminder that if she wasn't being watched for one thing, it was another - if not because she was the figurehead of a destroyed society, then because some holo-reporter had snapped a picture of her in General Solo's t-shirt.

He hadn't realized they _weren't_ public; then again, despite her political position, Leia was a frighteningly unreadable and private person - and he never hung out with the visible jet set, unless he was in the news for a strike against the remnants of the empire.

In the past year since the fall of the Palpatine, dust had settled, neatly in some places, darkly and messily in others, and light was touching the corners of the universe; unbeknownst to Han, Leia had been quietly ignoring pressures from the new head of state, from high ranking members of the new government - Mon Mothma among them.

It seemed they'd all expected her to come to her senses about the smuggler, and finally, in a crisp and public statement, Leia had not only eviscerated all expectations of that, she'd given in to an almost _Corellian_ urge to shock those who sought to barter her into submission.

It came to a head at a diplomatic soiree, at which Han was present, generally sulking around with Luke and Chewie and hiding from the political melee, when, after a tense discussion with a foreign Prince, Mon Mothma and one of the more aggressive peacemakers of the new Republic seemed to get into it with Leia.

Thinking it unlike her to look so inflamed while in a public setting, Han had approached with Luke, only in time to overhear:

 _"This is the kind of diplomacy your father intended for you, once the battle was won,"_ Mothma was saying gently. _"You won't even consider a marriage to the Prince?"_

Leia didn't bat an eyelid and, in front of hundreds of people - and members of the press - quite loudly and shortly said:

 _"Not unless the Prince would be amenable to his wife having a lifelong affair with General Solo."_

The words, and the sudden stampede of reporters, sent whatever Prince packing, and Han had stood blinking in the midst of flashing bulbs that were demanding everything from confirmations of their relationship to details on what she wore to bed.

For more than a week now, it had been the only thing that consumed the gossip stations – even the political news stations, when there was nothing to report on behalf of the Senate or the Supreme Courts; constant speculation on the unlikely affair between Princess and Pirate – a seedier station had even run a mini-movie claiming to tell the _'true, untold story of Princess Leia's seduction.'_

Imagine; in a week, they'd gotten something as tacky as that together, and that's when Leia, turning off the holonet, had said to him:

 _"This means we're out of the woods."_

He'd arched his brow, and she'd elaborated:

 _"They wouldn't be talking about when you stole my innocence if they were in fear for their lives,"_ she said bluntly. _"We did it. We won."_

Her triumph had seemed lukewarm – political victory at the expense of her privacy – and she'd gone to bed, then, leaving him with a cooling cup of kaffe, and something to think about.

What would they do, in a world they weren't fighting?

Now, in the darkness, well past the waking hours of diurnal beings on the planet, he watched her, restless, uncertainty gnawing at his gut – did they dare hope for continued peace? And in that world – would they be the same, would she still be his?

He appreciated what she'd said at the gala; he loved her, he had ultimate faith in her – but it had never once occurred to him that there were others working against him, trying to take her away. He just didn't come from a world where anyone gave a damn about who was sleeping with, or in love with, whom.

The more the holonet gossiped and speculated, the more he felt suspicious of the Alliance leaders he'd once considered equals – people who quietly tried to turn Leia away from him. The more the holonet gossiped, the more a wariness settled in the back of his mind: they had never known in each other in times of peace and prosperity; would what they had survive the ironically treacherous waters of a stable, democratic universe?

Leia shifted in her sleep, her lips moving soundlessly. He studied her face for signs of distress – of a nightmare. Nothing; her lips closed, her lashes twitched calmly. She seemed content, resting much better than he was.

She'd been accosted outside of her office today, somewhere in the heart of Coruscant; Han had seen it broadcast over lunch while he met with Wedge Antilles about a commissioning.

" _Are you living with General Solo in your new apartment, Your Highness?"_

" _How many women would you say Solo's been with before yourself?"_

" _How does the Alderaanian diaspora feel about you throwing away your lineage?"_

Most of the questions were inane, invasive and pestering, but more sensational than offensive – that last one, though; Han knew it had hurt her, deeply. Alderaan, Leia's lineage – both were tough subjects for her, and to have them both brought up in one go –

As if it wasn't hard enough to be head of a homeless people without having personal happiness attacked; as if it wasn't hard enough to bear the terrible secret burden of her parentage.

It was the only thing she ever fought with Luke about; he embraced the Skywalker name; she did not – she _would_ not. She dreaded the day when it became public, and she realistically assumed it would. With Luke parading his heritage around the galaxy, loosely using the name Anakin Skywalker, some old soul was bound to make the connection that the Jedi Skywalker had disappeared when the Sith Vader had risen; there were bound to be those who remembered.

Luke told her if it happened, it happened; the good that might come was that Leia could potentially have insight into her real mother; Leia told him flatly that the only mother she cared about died on Alderaan, and would hardly listen to more on the subject. And Han – didn't know what was best. Luke's wholesome forgivingness of all Vader's sins was almost childlike in its simplicity; the dark lord had recanted, and so he was absolved. That mindset angered Han – on Leia's behalf, on his own behalf; Luke had no understanding of what Leia had suffered at the hands of that black-clad devil.

Leia was not the doe-eyed, earnest and optimistic spirit that her brother was; she had sharp edges, and she had demons.

That she slept tonight without waking was a comfort; any night devoid of terrors or restlessness was a blessing.

She rolled to her side, sheets shifting, hair tumbling over her shoulder, and she reached out and touched his chest, fingertips pressing ever so lightly against his heart, lips parting slightly a moment before she opened her eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

His hand drifted from under his pillow to rest under hers. He shrugged.

"Nothing."

"Then why," she asked, lifting one eyebrow lightly, "have you been watching me sleep for half an hour?"

Han frowned slightly, at a loss for words. He gave her a sheepish look.

"Sounds like I was watching you _fake_ sleep, sweetheart," he quipped.

She moved closer, shaking her head a little. She hadn't been feigning it; she'd been sleeping well – aware, subconsciously perhaps, that he was watching over her. In that semi-lucid state, she'd felt the prickling of a nightmare, and willed herself awake.

"What's wrong, Han?" she asked again, tilting her head up.

Nothing was wrong, though; he had no reason to fear for the future. He had no reason to doubt Leia, and he refused to articulate irrational fears, especially if they might hurt her. He didn't dare suggest, even for a moment, that he doubted her commitment. He wasn't about to reveal that _he_ was the one with insecurities, after all the years she'd spent agonizing over his reliability.

"Those holoreporters today – " he began gruffly.

Her lashes fluttered just a little, drifted over her eyes for a moment, and then rose again. Her expression was mild, only slightly guarded.

"They say things to shock," she said. "To get a reaction. I learned to tune them out when I was a Senator," she said softly. "You should, too."

He interlocked his fingers with hers.

"That thing about Alderaan – "

"It doesn't matter, Han," she said sharply.

Her eyes carried a clear warning against him continuing, but he continued anyway.

"Are there a bunch of Alderaanians out there out for your blood because you're with me?" he asked bluntly.

The thought had never occurred to him. He just – wasn't from a reality in which someone's mind, body, and soul belonged to a whole society; a reality in which a person was more than just an individual – and that was Leia's reality; she was a figurehead, a beacon, a symbol.

Leia's expression was tired, heavy.

"Not to my knowledge," she answered flatly. "My people are – temperate, reflective," she paused. "Only a very tolerant people would have accepted an adopted daughter as the heir to their royal house," she pointed out.

Han nodded; there was merit in that, and she'd spoken before about how peaceful her home world had been: weaponless, kind, and wholesome. Cities built on rocky mountaintops to avoid destroying the natural foliage below. Where Corellia was irreverent, gritty, and brash, Alderaan had been sentimental; bucolic. He'd always thought it strange that such a notoriously serene planet emerged as such a firm, aggressive bulwark against the Empire; that its heir could mow down a line of Stormtroopers in a haze of bullets without batting a lash.

"It doesn't bother you?" Han asked hoarsely. "That they might want you with someone – like the Hapan guy, from the gala?"

She closed her eyes briefly, her mouth compressing in a hard line. After a moment, she rose up on her elbow, shaking her head.

"I think – the last thing the remaining Alderaanians have on their mind is my marriage, my private life," she said heavily. "Their livelihoods, their homes, their identities – obliterated, stolen, _gone_ ," she went on. "If they're hanging their happiness on who I make my bed with, it's only superficial," she told him hoarsely, "it's only so madness doesn't swallow them."

Han reached up and took a lock of her hair in his hand, running his fingers through it gently. He saw that the conversation troubled her; he knew that a small part of her felt conflicted about the diaspora, because she was their unchallenged leader – she'd established her place in the New Republic, first and foremost, as Ambassador on behalf of fallen Alderaan – only in a secondary capacity did she serve as a diplomatic envoy of the Senate.

They were her responsibility, and a large one; but having met very few Alderaanians, Han deferred to her assessment of them, and breathed easier.

"My _lineage_ ," she snorted suddenly. "Throwing away my _lineage_ – wouldn't the far greater sin be telling them who I _really_ am?" she mused, her tone almost nasty. "Given the option of embracing Darth Vader's daughter as their viceroy, I'm sure anyone turning their nose up at a smuggler would _gladly_ accept Leia Solo."

The shift in her mood was so sudden; she turned, sitting up, turning her back to him. Her shoulders slumped as she sat on the edge of the bed, her hair messily hanging down her back and over one shoulder.

Han lay still for a moment, watching her. He regretted disturbing her, bringing this up, but then, he wasn't a fool; it must have been weighing on her, or she'd have meant it when she told him to put it from his head. He sat up slowly, crawling across the bed. He sat behind her, legs aligning with hers, almost touching the thickly carpeted floor where hers only dangled.

He moved his hands up her back slowly, running palms over her shoulders soothingly. He pressed his lips behind her ear.

"Leia _Solo_?" he asked quietly, his lips turning up.

She tilted her head back against his shoulder, reveling in his embrace.

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it," she murmured smugly.

He moved all of her hair over her shoulder, shrugging a little. He had thought about it. He was male, territorial; his past wasn't a string of sordid one-nighters, but an anthology of lengthy failed love affairs – Jessa Vandagante, Bria Tharen; Leia was the finale in a lifelong search for something he'd never been able to define. Of course he wanted that in writing. Of course he'd thought about that in name. He just - even when he'd asked her to marry him, right after Endor, in what felt like a dream on Corellia, he hadn't really thought she'd take his name.

"Have you?" he whispered in her ear.

When, in all the chaos and destruction, would she have had time to devote to _that_?

She shifted her head. She rested her hands on his thighs, leaning into him completely.

"I love you," she murmured softly. "I can't imagine dropping Organa. Not now; not after," she paused, swallowed, and changed gears. "If that's what it takes, I'd rather be a Solo than a Skywalker, in the end."

"If that's what _what_ takes?" Han asked.

She bowed her head.

"If it comes to blows," she answered quietly, "with the political elite, using my name as a bargaining chip," she explained dully. If she had to do something drastic to shut down, once and for all, their attempts to hand her to a foreign ruler as a dowry for joining the Republic.

Han was quiet a moment.

"I don't want you marrying me to prove a point to anyone else," he said edgily.

She lifted her head, turning to look at him.

"That's not what I mean," she said coolly. "What have I done in the past few days that would give you that impression? _They_ are the ones who made this a point of contention," she said, gesturing between them. "I claimed you. Without hesitation. You are mine."

For no other reason than because she wanted him, and she chose him, and that was how she felt. No political posturing went into it. It was simple enough to her; she was comfortable with people knowing that. Her rather forward public joke at the gala had served the purpose she wanted it to, and she did not intend to speak on the subject – publicly – again.

Han touched her chin and tilted her mouth up to his, kissing her gently. He pulled back briefly.

"I wouldn't ask you to change your name," he said huskily.

She nodded, turning to him, nudging him back into the bed.

"I know," she said, tilting her head at him, resting her body on his lightly. "That's why I would."

He pulled her face down to his again, deciding he was glad his silent vigil had woken her. He pushed his hands through her hair, tangling his fingers up, eager to get lost. He could spend years doing this – if the rest of his life, he never left this bed, he'd be satisfied, responsibilities be damned.

Leia kicked the sheets off of them, trailing her lips down his jaw. He slipped his hands out of her hair and down her back, encircling her waist and rolling them over easily. She tilted her head back, stretching her hands above her head with leisure. He moved down her body slowly, hands sliding up the t-shirt she wore – his t-shirt – fingers gripping her hips lightly.

Leia drew her lower lip into her mouth in anticipation.

From somewhere far away, the quiet sound of the door chimes went off. She thought to ignore it, but the chimes rang again, louder, and Han paused, rising up a little; he turned. She sat up on her elbows, eyes warily peering past his head. The chimes came a third time, even louder.

"It's after midnight," Han said, sitting back on his heels.

"That can't be good," Leia murmured.

She sat up, shaking her hair back.

"Maybe it's Luke?" Han suggested, turning to her.

Leia pursed her lips. She touched her temple lightly.

"He'd _call_ first," she said, using the word call loosely. He'd reach out to her first – if it were this late. "Besides – I don't think he's back from Kamino. Chewie?"

Han snorted loudly.

"He'd just walk in," he remarked under his breath.

Leia smiled – probably true; he had the home code, and a room of his own if he needed or wanted to stay over. The knocking repeated: insistent, and Han got up, looking around the floor. Leia got up as well, flipping on a light. She pulled on a pair of soft, casual pants and grabbed a cotton robe to pull over her t-shirt, tucking her hair behind her ears.

Yawning, she sighed as she walked towards the door.

"Too bad," she lamented. "That was getting good."

Han caught her around the waist for a moment before she left, kissed her cheek.

"I'll make it up to you, sweetheart," he growled seductively.

She laughed, and shook him off. Following behind her, he went into the kitchen, his discarded shirt from earlier slung over his shoulder. He turned on a small light, and opened a cupboard for a glass.

Leia made her way across the broad expanse of the living area, down a small hallway, to the door of the apartment, and paused a moment, straightening her shoulders and composing herself, before pulling the heavy door open. She was surprised at who she found – considering the late hour, she'd honestly expected someone rather high ranking; instead, the young man who stood at her door was a tech from the Alderaanian Consulate.

Taken aback, she took a moment to silently wrack her brains for his name – she'd made a point to know all of their names; the Consulate was set up in the deserted Alderaanian Embassy in the heart of Coruscant, and out of it she ran all kinds of operations specifically targeted at her displaced people.

"Braxxer," she said finally, recalling the name.

He was young; he was an orphan of the Great Tragedy. He and his mother had been off world when it had happened; she'd killed herself two months later, leaving him quite alone. How he'd gone on, Leia wasn't sure, but she'd gladly given him a home in the Intelligence Center.

"Your Highness," he said, executing a fine little bow, just slightly forward at the waist. "Ma'am," he added, lifting his chin formally. "I'm sorry it's so late, but it's urgent."

"What's wrong?" Leia asked simply. She tucked a hand into the pocket of her robe, and listened to Han moving around in the kitchen down the hall. If she stood here much longer, he'd come looking; she debated asking the young man in.

"I can't explain exactly," Braxxer said, looking confused. "I'm not even sure what I saw; I reported it to Threkin Horm and he sent me to Rieekan and he sent me to you – "

The boy broke off, breathless. In the pause, Han rounded the corner.

"What's going on?" he asked. Taking a few steps forward, he folded his arms, stopping behind Leia. "Who are you?"

She turned her head.

"Han," she admonished. "Don't be rude." She turned back to Braxxer. "Come in for a moment, Braxxer," she suggested, stepping back.

"Oh, I – no, Your Highness, I'm only sent to _fetch_ you."

"Well, I'm not at anybody's beck-and-call, so I suggest you come in and tell me what's going on first," she returned firmly, waiting for him to enter.

The boy seemed daunted by the prospect of entering her quarters, and as he did, he shot the man behind her a wary look – which Han, frankly, was fine with. He was already suspicious of anyone barging in on them in the middle of the night, and he was pretty sure he'd heard the name _Threkin Horm._

Han really, _really_ hated that guy.

Leia gestured into the parlor, and Han shut the door behind the kid, following them into the room. While Braxxer strolled in hesitantly, Leia stopped in the door, throwing her hand back gently and hitting Han's abdomen.

"Why don't you put your shirt on," she suggested – though really, it was more of an order.

Grinning, Han hung back a moment to comply, sliding the shirt on lazily and fumbling with the buttons while he watched Leia ask their unexpected visitor to have a seat.

"I don't even know if I saw what I saw," the kid burst out. "I reported it as part of procedure – believe me, I did _not_ want to wake you up," he explained. "Your Highness," he added, stricken.

Leaning in the doorway, Han shared an amused look with Leia – for some reason, the boy seemed to think she was going to rip him inside out and wear his skin as a ball gown. There were a number of people who had that impression of Leia – fueled by her cool demeanor in public, and the social reticence she seemed to display despite frequently attending political and diplomatic soirees.

When they called her the Ice Princess, Han could only think of all the times he'd seen her melt.

Leia held up a calm hand.

"You're acting on orders. I'm sure you aren't here for any frivolous reason," she said simply. "Is anyone in danger?"

Braxxer blinked, and tilted his head.

"It's a _distress_ signal – but specifically, I don't think – "

"Okay; what distress signal?" Leia asked. Han folded his arms, watching curiously. "Is Luke Skywalker in trouble?" she asked suddenly, sharply.

" _No_ ," Braxxer said emphatically. "But this is so unlikely – "

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Leia suggested – again, in that tone that implied it was really more of an order. A gentle order, but an order all the same.

Braxxer took a deep breath, frowned, and ran his hand through his hair. He sat forward, his back straight, but his shoulders curved forward anxiously.

"I was monitoring the search programs in the Intelligence Center," he began simply. "Our focus has been panning further and further out," he noted.

Leia nodded – the search programs were set up to aid any Alderaanians in hiding or without ways to reach out to the center of the Republic. They sought anyone who'd was in need of rescue, assistance – et cetera.

"Well, I gave an order to sweep the more populous areas – to sweep the area where Alderaan used to be – "

"We've swept the surrounding area so many times," Leia interrupted flatly. "It's still too volatile an area to send in scouts."

The force of the destruction made the area extremely dangerous space; the speed of debris was still treacherous despite the years past. Any ships returning – any ships piloted by people who somehow, far in the depths of the outer rims, hadn't heard – or didn't believe – often disappeared.

"But something flared," Braxxer said.

Leia tilted her head, her brow furrowed.

"A ship gone off course?"

" _No_ , Your Highness," Braxxer pleaded. "The distress signal I picked up was –appeared to be – the official seal of House Organa."

Han unfolded his arms, straightening up. He took a few steps forward, stunned, his eyes on Leia. Braxxer had fallen silent, and Han waited for Leia to say something. When she didn't, Braxxer looked up helplessly, as if begging Han to do something. Han strode forward, and as he was sitting down behind Leia on the sofa, she shook her head.

"That's ridiculous," she said bluntly. "That's impossible."

Han reached out to touch her shoulder. To his surprise, she immediately twitched away from him, sitting forward stiffly. His hand fell to his lap heavily, and he looked at Braxxer again.

"What are you sayin', kid?" he asked gruffly.

"I'm not saying anything," he said desperately. "I reported the signal as part of procedure, and my superior woke up Councilor Horm – Councilor Horm got General Rieekan in there, and they ordered me to bring Her Highness in," he explained. He turned back to Leia. "I thought I was seeing things," he added.

"You were," Leia responded quietly.

He hesitated.

" _I_ thought so," he repeated. "General Rieekan didn't think so."

Leia turned her head away. She looked down at the carpet for a long, quiet moment, and then looked up at Han, her eyes heavy. She compressed her lips, and this time, when he put his hand on her shoulder, she didn't shy away. She tore her eyes away, and looked back at Braxxer.

"What was the purpose of sending you here?" she asked tiredly.

"They want you at an emergency meeting of the Alderaanian Council," Braxxer answered.

"They're taking this seriously," Leia said.

She was almost incredulous. She felt – she felt, frankly, as if she were in a waking nightmare. She didn't understand what any of this was supposed to mean – she felt confused, angry, disoriented; the only thing that seemed to anchor her to the moment was Han's comforting hand on her shoulder. His voice broke into her thoughts; he cleared his throat, and said:

"I think you'd better go see what's going on, Leia."

She tilted her head towards him, listening, and nodded. She stood, and quickly, Braxxer stood as well, folding his hands behind his back formally. He inclined his head.

"I can drive you in my speeder, Your Highness," he began, but Leia shook her head, holding her hand up gently.

"I need to get dressed," she demurred. "You can tell the council I'll be at headquarters in an hour."

Braxxer nodded, and Han stood up, beckoning to him. He led him to the door, giving the kid a critical look. Braxxer looked stressed, uncertain. At the door, Han stepped half into the hall, stopping him before he left. He glanced behind him, and lowered his voice.

"So, what's this mean?" he asked. "What're you implying?"

Braxxer lifted his shoulders desperately, turning up his palms.

"I really don't know, General Solo," he said, exasperated. "It's got to be a hoax."

He turned and left, disappearing down the hall, leaving Han standing there with a frown. He grit his teeth, and shut the door a little too loudly for the time of night, returning to the parlor area in search of Leia. She, predictably, was not there, and he found her back in their bedroom, shuffling around in the walk-in closet. He watched her a moment, and then took a step in.

"Leia," he started.

"This has happened before," she said.

" _This_?" Han quoted.

"Pretenders," Leia said delicately. "Individuals claiming – to be lost members of the Alderaanian aristocracy," she trailed off, shaking her head. She chose a neat pair of red silk slacks from her closet. She muttered something, and Han said:

"But why would they wake you up for this, then?"

She shook her head again, and chose a casual black blouse to go with the slacks. Her lips formed a tight line, and she didn't answer – that's what shook her; they shouldn't have. It couldn't be the official distress beacon of House Organa – there were very few ships eligible to use it, and to her knowledge, other than _Tantive IV_ , which she'd been taken from when they took her to the Death Star, the other authorized ships were grounded when the planet was destroyed.

Leia shrugged off her robe, standing before him in sweatpants and his t-shirt. She shook her head wordlessly. The mere suggestion that – if that's what was _possibly_ being suggested between the lines here – that someone important had survived, and gone without detection for five years – it was unfathomable.

She leaned against the closet doorway.

These past few days, this past week – her personal life in the spotlight, and now this? Had the galactic shift from turmoil to peace somehow set into motion circumstances that forced her to address the uncertainties in her life for all the world to see?

"I'm tired, Han," she said heavily.

The statement was so loaded; it was more than just being woken in the middle of the night, dragged out of slumber by both him and the outside world – she was tired of what the world had thrown at her since she was nineteen years old.

He moved closer to her and took her face in his hands, tilting her head up. He pressed kisses to her forehead, the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth.

"Will you come with me?" she asked.

He nodded, slipping his hand down to her shoulder and squeezing.

Of course he would. He'd been following her since the Battle of Yavin.

* * *

 _your preliminary thoughts are MUCH appreciated._

 _-alexandra_  
 _story #300_


	3. Two

**a/n:** _ah, a few more notes: i yanked some names of Alderaanians off of Wookieepedia, but their functions in this story are made up by me. When it's not obvious (as in, obviously Rieekan isn't mine) I'll note when I used a name from the EU, and when I made up a character. "Braxxer" is mine. Kell Tainer, Tyr Taskeen, Dansra Beezer, Threkin Horm - they're not._

* * *

 _ **Two**_

* * *

The Alderaanian Council was the leading authority on all issues concerning the diaspora: it handled everything from financial problems, to inheritance issues, to legal settlements and the search for a possible new home world for Alderaan's remaining legacy. Most of its members held other positions in addition to their membership on the Council, and this evening, the biggest among them were present. Biggest in this new reality defined a person differently; Leia was the only member left of the Alderaanian aristocracy; the Council was made up up not of people who were born to govern, but who had proven their devotion in actions after the Disaster.

When she entered Threkin Horm's plush office at the old Alderaanian Embassy, Kell Tainer, Tyr Taskeen, Dansra Beezer, and Carlist Rieekan were present; Leia was expecting them. She was unprepared to see Mon Mothma and Jan Dodonna as well – what the Chief of State and Military Commander of the New Republic were doing involved, she couldn't be sure.

"Carlist," Leia greeted softly, her eyes on Mon Mothma.

Behind her, Han shut the door to the room – several people were sitting, others were standing - back in the corner, Braxxer stood with his hands behind his back, looking wary.

Dansra, a pilot, lounging with her feet up, raised her hand in greeting; Kell flashed a grin at Leia and nodded his head – those two had been valuable members of the Rebellion, not necessarily high-ranking, or aristocratic Alderaanians, but Alderaanians all the same, and with a fingers the pulse of the people.

"Brax," Threkin growled, "there was no need to drag Solo to this meeting," he admonished testily, his beady eyes narrowing at the tall Corellian. Horm looked so appalled – and confused – at Solo's appearance, that Han almost shot him a smirk.

He resisted, though, and Braxxer withered under Horm's annoyed glare.

"What are you doing here, General?" Dodonna asked simply, his expression cool – Jan was one of those people Han had never had a problem with while serving in the Alliance, but with whom he'd suddenly had a falling out since _about_ two weeks ago.

"Han was with me, Jan," Leia said simply, taking a seat in her usual chair in the conference room.

Her expression was cool, and Han leaned against a wall somewhere behind her, taking up residence in the shadows. He was there for support; he didn't miss the outraged look in Horm's eyes – Horm, who'd never really had the guts to get behind the Rebellion, but who sure had ideas about how Leia should live her life in the aftermath.

"At this hour?" Threkin demanded.

Leia blinked very slowly.

"At any hour he wishes," she remarked mildly, turning straight to Rieekan. "Braxxer said it was you who wanted me here," she said.

Rieekan, who'd been giving Han a somewhat amused look over Leia's head, hastily composed himself and nodded, turning his head to look quickly at Mon Mothma before sitting forward and clearing his throat.

"I thought it best," he said, "and I thought it best not to wait. I'd rather you be in the loop and it turn out to be a false signal than you think we hid something of this magnitude from you."

Leia's lips turned up in a grateful little smile. Rieekan was one of those rare people who understood she could be more than one thing; he may have known her as a Princess on Alderaan, but he'd also been shoulder to shoulder with her in the trenches on Hoth, on Yavin, and at countless other places – like Dansra, like Kell, he was one who had gotten his hands dirty, and seen her do the same.

Those who had seen blood and dirt on her nails seemed to view her differently than those who thought, when the Rebellion ended, things would fall back to the way they'd been. The latter seemed to forget that once it all ended, Leia had no palace to go back to, no throne to sit on.

"Whatever this is," Leia began delicately, "it has to be a false signal."

She looked around intently, meeting the eyes of her fellows. She waited for someone to speak, and for a brief moment, she felt like she was home again, standing in while her mother lay ill, and her father was away on a diplomatic mission. She moved her head slightly, shaking the image away. She would never be that girl again; she would never be home again.

Tyr Taskeen snapped his fingers, and pointed to the back of the room, indicating the plasma display.

"This is what Braxxer came across while he was monitoring the rubble where Alderaan once was," Taskeen said, with pauses before words like rubble and Alderaan.

The monitoring scans appeared on the screen, and Leia studied them, compartmentalizing the blips that would be remaining asteroids, rock clusters – pieces of her home. The glitchy, glimmer screen was uneventful for a moment, and then there was a burst of signal, present for a moment, lingering briefly, and then gone.

Leia felt like her heart skipped its next ten beats, and she gripped the arms of her seat tightly.

The skepticism she'd come in with faded brilliantly in a moment, and she blinked, lips parting, as they replayed the clip – paused it on the signal exploding into space, the distress image.

She'd know it _anywhere_. She'd grown up under that signal.

The Official Seal of the House of Organa.

She pressed her lips together tightly, unable to say anything.

"My first impression was that it was a hoax, Your Highness," Braxxer spoke up, reinforcing his belief.

She'd felt the same way when he'd implied what he had, in her apartment. Seeing that seal, though – directly in front of her – she suddenly, even if she didn't want to admit it, felt _different_. There was something suspiciously like – wild hope – flaring in the back of her mind.

"When I saw it, I wasn't so sure," Rieekan spoke up. He turned, leaning forward, his elbows balanced on his knees. "You understand why, Your Highness?" he asked, his voice lower.

She nodded, without saying anything – when the silence went on too long, Han cleared his throat, and spoke up.

"Why?" he asked, for himself – and for a few others who looked at least mildly confused. Ignoring the look Horm and Dodonna shot him, Han rubbed his palm on his trousers casually.

Leia turned her head slightly, her profile tilted towards Han.

"There's a security mechanism embedded into the distress seal," she said very levelly. "The official seal of the House is well known; the _distress_ seal has an addition that's only known to members of the inner circles with appropriate security clearances. It's to prevent traps being set. To prevent imposters," she explained.

Elaborating for Han was keeping her sane.

Leia inclined her head at the seal present on the screen.

"That small bird in the lower left corner is the signal that it's authentic," she revealed hoarsely.

Han searched for what she mentioned, and it took him forever to find it – small, iridescent, in the corner of the seal, was the native bird she mentioned. He leaned his head back thoughtfully, considering what it might mean.

Leia took a heavy breath and turned back to Rieekan – focusing on Rieekan alone.

"You had them come to me," she said softly. "What do you think?"

"It was there for the barest second," he answered. "I wanted to write it off, but the bird – "

Leia nodded. She lifted her chin and looked at Braxxer.

"Has it reappeared since?" she asked.

"I've barely been monitoring since I alerted the Council," he said, his face blanching. "It caused such an uproar – "

"Such an uproar that instead of watching the monitoring systems like a hawk, someone felt it best to drag everyone out of bed for an emergency meeting with no information?" Leia interrupted sharply.

Her irritation was not directed at Braxxer, but he looked cowed all the same. She turned her dark eyes on her peers, the pilots, and the head of state. It seemed infuriatingly simple to her that before sounding all the alarms, they'd glean more information.

"Now, Your Majesty," began Horm obsequiously.

Leia held up her hand for silence, and shot an irritable look at the obsequious man. The very way he spoke to her recently offended her; he overused titles - he seemed determined to impress upon her that Han Solo was not an appropriate match.

" _Majesty_ is reserved for the anointed ruler, Threkin, and I think you know that," she said icily. She pulled her chair forward, and caught Braxxer's eye. "I want you to go back to the Intelligence Center and monitor the area around the clock," she told him. "I want you to report any issues to General Rieekan directly," she paused, "and only General Rieekan."

Braxxer swallowed, nodded, and scampered from the room.

Dansra leaned forward, pushing hair back over her shoulder.

"I want to clarify things in as simple a way as possible," she said in a musical, non-threatening voice. "We're here because there's a chance high-ranking Alderaanians may have somehow survived The Disaster – _somehow_."

Kell held up his hand.

"Not merely high ranking," he said brow furrowing. He gestured at the seal. "Viceroy Organa?"

Finally, Mon Mothma cleared her throat.

"It's highly unlikely that any ship using that signal wouldn't have Bail or Breha Organa on board, which is why Carlist asked for Leia's verification of the seal – "

"He knew it the moment he saw it," Leia pointed out, shooting a sharp glance at Mon Mothma – Rieekan had been one of her father's dearest friends, and suddenly she felt awful sitting here, discussing the possible survival of someone close to her when there was no chance his own family had escaped.

"So you two are here," Han said, gesturing mildly between Dodonna and Mon Mothma, "because you think this is real."

Feeding off of him, Leia held up both of her hands.

"This is preposterous," she said, in a voice that seemed less certain than she had been earlier. "My mother was on planet when _Tantive IV_ was captured; I spoke to her when I boarded the ship. She was sitting in the throne room – "

"Perhaps it isn't her," Mon Mothma said delicately.

"Father was on planet, as well!" Leia protested.

"Are you sure?" Dodonna asked.

Leia moved her mouth soundlessly, and sat back, her shoulders sinking. She supposed she wasn't absolutely, utterly, completely positive, but she had no reason to believe he'd have been off planet – there was no cause for it! Gritting her teeth, she turned to Rieekan.

"Carlist," she said heavily, "you told me that my family was told I was killed in an accident on _Tantive IV_. They would have been in Aldera planning a _burial_."

"If they stuck to custom," Tyr spoke up suddenly. He hesitated, and scratched his chin. "Not very many of us believed that story was true," he revealed. He'd never been a part of the upper echelon, but he'd been in the rebellion when the announcement was sent to Alderaan, and thus transmitted across the Alderaanian network.

Leia fell silent.

"The monarchy never made a statement, Princess," Dansra spoke up in her soft voice. "They never publicly acknowledged the claim."

"They didn't believe I was dead?" Leia asked after a moment, a twinge of hope in her voice.

"I didn't," Kell spoke up confidently. "Hell – pardon my language, Your Highness," Leia gave a protracted roll of her eyes at that, "Queen Breha wasn't the kind of woman to accepted something like that without proof, not when rumors of Alderaan's disloyalty were already rampant," he pointed out.

Leia leaned forward and put her head in her hands, and Han wanted nothing more than to remove her from this room, lock her back in their bedroom with him, and make her forget every bad thing that had ever happened to her. When Leia lifted her head again, she had compressed her lips, and she looked back at Mon Mothma.

"You were my father's oldest friend, Mon," she said. "Why do _you_ think he might have been off planet when – it happened?"

Her father had been so adamant that he stay behind, that he not raise any suspicions. The Empire had never trusted him, he was always on their lists, and he said it was safer for her if he looked like he'd faded into obscurity while she took hold of her political career.

"Because if he thought they had you, Leia," Mon Mothma said simply, "he would have gone to get you."

Leia felt selfish for asking the question, because it was what she'd wanted to hear – she'd spent so long on the Death Star lost in despair, face to face with her own mortality, with tragedy, with impending doom – that Han and Luke had shown up was a fluke. It was a fluke that changed her life, but nonetheless, an impossible occurrence – but to know, even vaguely, that her father might have set out to get her, gave her a strange kind of comfort; retroactively erased a miniscule amount of despair.

"But how is this possible?" she asked, looking around. "Anything near the orbit of Alderaan would have been blown to pieces," she said desperately, "and it's been five years – _five years_ , without discovering something this – this – " she broke off, shaking her head. "If this had come to us a month after Yavin, I might have believed it – I'd have wanted to," she said dully. She frowned. "This can't be."

"Don't you want it to be?" Dansra asked suddenly – and she asked Leia, not the Princess of Alderaan, not the diplomat – she very clearly met Leia's eyes, and asked the woman sitting in across from her.

Leia's mouth was dry.

"Do I _want_ to find a ship full of Alderaanians?" she clarified, her voice soft and harsh – not with anger, with some sort of tightly controlled grief.

She didn't even answer the question, she just looked at Dansra, and in the silence, Han felt the sadness, the devastation, of all of these people around him – and he couldn't help but be affected by it. He hadn't lost his whole planet, but he tried to imagine what it would feel like if someone told him he could see his mother again.

"Jan, do you think this is possible?" Leia asked abruptly, refusing to get into her deeper emotions in public.

Dodonna hesitated.

"There are – possible explanations," he said, very warily. "The galaxy hasn't seen a manmade destruction like Alderaan before; conditions could have combined to create all kind of odd effects – black holes, suspended animation, rips in dimensions," he listed.

Leia looked at him like he'd grown a second head, and Threkin Horm cleared his throat.

"It's also quite possible we're picking up light from the past, some sort of glitch in monitoring telescopes," he said, somewhat lamely.

Dansra suddenly let out a loud snort.

"Telescopes that are glitching only up to five years?" she said caustically.

"No, reaching back further," Horm said icily. "Reflecting the seal from an earlier time of distress – "

"House Organa developed that seal specifically when the Rebel Alliance took shape," Tyr broke in sharply. "The bird in the corner was devised in honor of Princess Leia."

Leia said nothing to that; Han wondered why it was a bird, though he didn't question why the specifically foolproof part of the signal would pay homage to Leia herself.

The Council all fell silent, and Han found it incredibly uncomfortable – the two young pilots sharing looks, uncomfortable with the proceedings; Taskeen with his quiet study of Leia, Horm with his covert glares at Han – and then Rieekan, thoughtful, and Dodonna and Mon Mothma, looming with their prestige and their agendas.

"We need to decide if we're going to send scouts out there," Threkin said finally.

Han's eyes widened, and he spoke up without thinking –

"Scouts? Out to that wreckage on a whim? That area's so unstable, you can't risk lives on the _flicker_ of a distress signal – "

"General Solo, this hardly concerns you," Horm snapped nastily.

Han pointed to himself.

"If it's gonna affect men under my command, it does," he fired back, shooting a glance at both Rieekan and Dodonna. "I'm the only one here who's flown into that mess," he said stiffly.

"Check yourself, General Solo," Dodonna said, flicking his eyes to Leia. "You might want to consider the company."

"Han's right," Leia said, without looking at him. "With all due respect, Threkin, it would be foolish to go careening off to the Alderaan System on nothing more than a whim – "

"A _whim_! That's your father's distress signal on that screen, Your Highness!" Horm groused in disbelief. "I would think you would be sending the best of the New Republic's army to retrieve him."

Leia turned her dark eyes on Horm, and he quailed, sinking back into his seat somewhat. She hadn't missed the implication of his words – that she was reacting inappropriately coldly, as usual, that she was unfeeling – the same sort of criticism she'd gotten back on Yavin when she didn't publicly fall apart in grief over Alderaan.

She said nothing to him, to anyone, for a very long time, and then she turned to Rieekan.

"Would you agree with General Solo that it's best we proceed with caution?" she asked.

He hesitated, and nodded.

"Much as I'd like to go myself," he muttered, before nodding more firmly. "Caution, and skepticism," he decided. "As a matter of fact, I called Mon and Jan here to get their input on possible rescue missions, considering the high profile nature of those in need."

"I think it's too early to consider rescue missions," Leia said quietly.

"At the risk of speaking out of turn," Kell said, lifting his hand, "so do I. We'd need significant preparation, because it could be a trap."

"A trap?" Dansra asked. She pointed at the signal. "Princess Leia just said that's a classified version of the signal – it's not replicable," she pointed out, exasperated. "That's why we're all here – isn't it?" She looked around. "Why we haven't just ignored it as an obvious scam and…moved on," she trailed off.

She noticed Mon Mothma sharing a look with Rieekan and frowned. Kell put his hands behind his head and frowned, too, watching the silent exchange.

"Is there a possibility someone close to the Organas was a traitor?" Taskeen asked warily, his eyes sharply on his superiors.

"No," Rieekan said confidently.

"Not in precisely the way you'd think," Mon Mothma said delicately.

Kell shrugged.

"The Empire had impeccable intelligence," he said flatly. "They could have gotten it out of any Alderaanian who wasn't ready to die – "

"We were all ready to die," Dansra said fiercely. "After what they did?"

"It's unlikely an Alderaanian would have betrayed the secret before the Disaster – "

"And after, anyone who knew something that classified was dead!" Taskeen said harshly.

"Not everyone," Leia said finally. She leaned forward, rubbing her temples tensely, hiding her eyes for a moment. Han watched her uncertainly – Leia couldn't be suggesting _she'd_ revealed something like that to her mortal enemies.

"Your Highness?" Horm asked, expressing some shock.

" _Tantive IV_ was the only other ship authorized with that signal," Mon Mothma said carefully. "They could have taken notice when Leia transmitted her distress before her capture – "

"That's very kind of you, Mon," Leia interrupted, lifting her head. "What she isn't saying is that it's possible the Empire harvested several Alderaanian secrets from my head while I used all of my strength to protect the location of the Rebel Base."

Han lowered his hands in surprise – to hear her mention her time in the Death Star in company was a rare thing; to imagine her being so strained keeping one secret that she unknowingly gave up others was not only harrowing, it was heartbreaking.

Leia didn't say much more; she didn't mention that she had no clear memory of what had happened during the psychological interrogations, only that when she was lucid again, Alderaan was in the crosshairs of the empire, and Vader still didn't know the Rebels were on Yavin.

She had always carried with her the heavy guilt that Alderaan had been marked for execution because of what he'd found in her head – because it was so far gone, so much the heart of the rising Alliance, that it had to go.

"Well," Han said abruptly, giving a menacing glare to the silent council members, "I doubt anyone here blames you for that." His tone brooked no argument, and the look on his face suggested her might rip apart anyone who suggested otherwise.

"Of course not," Mon Mothma said with quiet firmness.

Han was grateful to her for that, because her sincerity was genuine.

"We face a problem of how to proceed," Dodonna ventured finally. "Carlist thought it best to defer to Your Highness," he said, waving his hand at Leia gallantly.

Leia looked at the distress signal projected on the screen, considering it intently for a long time. She knew a well-formed, logical, and mostly military decision was in order, and she was prepared to make that – for the most part, she couldn't really comprehend the myriad of possibilities this one brief flicker of an old seal prophesized, and making decisions would distract her.

She turned in her chair, looking at Han.

"What was it like when you were there?" she asked.

She had never asked him about it before, though of course she knew that he, Luke, Chewbacca, and Ben Kenobi had come out of hyperspace into the middle of it. They'd had to; they'd been caught in the Death Star's trajectory as the battle station hurtled away from the wreckage.

Han hesitated to answer truthfully in front of so many people; to put it lightly, Alderaan's demise had not been pretty – navigating the destruction had been one of the most dangerous maneuvers of his life.

"Like navigating that asteroid field near Hoth," he answered truthfully.

"With or without Imperials shooting at us?" she asked levelly.

"With," he decided. "Worse."

Leia nodded at him, grimacing slightly. She'd expected as much.

"What _asteroid_ field?" Dansra asked suddenly, curiosity piqued. "You can navigate an _asteroid_ field?!"

Han looked at her over Leia's head, and grinned.

"You mean they didn't cover that one in the holo-movies?" he quipped.

Leia lifted her hand to her mouth and bit on her nail, considering him a moment. She rolled her eyes at him and turned back to the group, leaving Dansra's question unanswered.

"Is that where this happened?" Rieekan asked, pointing between Han and Leia. "When you evacuated her from Hoth?"

Han folded his arms, compressing is lips pointedly.

"Carlist," Mon Mothma said stiffly, "this is an official meeting, not a gossip forum."

Threkin Horm glowered at Han, and Han shrugged, turning his focus back to Leia.

For her part, Leia didn't seem to care; she took a deep breath, and pulled her hand from her lips, pointing at the seal that seemed to menace the room.

"I want that authenticated," she remarked. She paused. "Ah, what I mean is – I want the system monitored to see if the distress call sounds again, or comes back in full. We need to know if it's consistent, if it's fading – et cetera," she listed. "There should be some specialists to ascertain whether it's a forgery, if you get readings consistent enough to suggest there's actually something there, waiting."

Han listened to her give orders, somewhat smugly taking pride in how she commanded a room – even when she was probably barely holding it together inside. This kind of information had to be a shock; it _had_ to be, even if it didn't really mean anything yet -

"So, monitor that system without stopping – I don't know how wise it is, but in an effort to get to the bottom to this, I'm going to order most operations in the Intelligence and Rescue centers focus on this. Get cryptographers available for authentication purposes – and I want a team of extremely reputable Scientists to be read into the issue to see if they can flesh out possible explanation for - -survivors," the words felt metallic and strange on her tongue, unreal. She swallowed hard, and went on: "Finally, I want daily reports on progress submitted to Rieekan," she paused, and glanced to the front of the room "If there's something to this – "

Leia trailed off a moment, and then took a deep breath.

"—then it's not just an Alderaanian issue. My father served in the Old Republic, and he was close with the Jedi. Anything he remembers would be – _invaluable_."

She made no mention of herself, of her own personal desires. She cleared her throat.

"I'll consult with Commander Skywalker," she added carefully. "He may offer – insight."

"Asking a member of the Old Religion for advising on a policy decision?" Taskeen asked warily. "That's what put the Sith in power."

"Good Gods, Tyr, its _Luke Skywalker_ , not Darth Vader!" Dodonna snapped.

Leia's blood felt cold a moment, and she suppressed a shudder – so few people knew; so _few_ people. What would happen when information was free again, when people were un-muzzled from years of Imperial influence? The only good thing that the purge of the Jedi had brought was the elimination of a group of people who knew Luke and Leia's true parentage.

"At any rate," Leia said coolly. "Luke can be trusted with power far further than some," she remarked mildly. "Are my instructions clear?"

There was a murmur of agreement, and Leia looked around at her people.

"Is there anything else that should be done?" she asked, opening the floor – she was stunned her voice wasn't shaking; she felt like there was a storm brewing inside of her.

"I think you've covered the basics," Dodonna said. "I doubt anyone could have come down more logically on such an – unexpected situation."

Rieekan looked at his watch, and stood up, straightening a slightly wrinkled jacket. With a polite nod around, he had Taskeen snap off the display, and gestured at the door.

"It's late," he said simply, suggesting a dismissal.

There was a dull ruckus as everyone began to move; Threkin Horm was the first out, without a word to anyone in the room – but with an extremely vocal look at Han. Han ignored him, and came forward behind Leia's chair. Before he could say anything, Rieekan called him over. Leia stood up as he walked away, tucking loose hairs behind her ears. She noticed both Mon Mothma and Dansra, the pilot, approaching her, and braced herself.

"If I can speak out of turn, Your Highness," Dansra said, her voice low. She flicked her eyes at Han. "I wouldn't listen to what anyone says – I don't blame you," she said, with an almost suggestive wink.

She filed out, beginning a sleepy conversation with Kell, and Leia folded her arms, smiling wryly – well, it was nice to have some support from an Alderaanian who didn't think, as the holo-reporters put it, she was throwing away her lineage.

Mon Mothma averted her eyes a moment, overhearing the comment, and touched Leia's arm.

"This must have been a difficult meeting," she remarked.

Leia lifted her shoulders without committing to a statement.

"I knew Bail, too, Leia," Mothma said. "Very well."

"I'm aware of that, Mon," Leia said carefully. "It wasn't in the same capacity as I did," she said simply.

Mon Mothma nodded. She was silent a moment, and then looked over her shoulder at Han and Rieekan, who stood head to head, having a hushed conversation.

"This is hardly the time to bring it up – "

"Then don't," Leia said flatly.

"I'm not going to say what you think I'm going to say."

Leia lifted her brows, and waited, as if to challenge that statement. Mon Mothma sighed.

"Your personal life is your own," she said honestly. "If I'd known you were – spoken for, I might not have been so insistent with – matrimonial alliance plans," she said delicately. "I'm not sure the middle of a gala was the best place to remove yourself from the game."

Leia took this to be some kind of apology, and smiled somewhat tiredly.

"My subtle hints went unnoticed, Mon," she said quietly – for months, she had demurred when it came to any sort of arrangements for a treaty. "Perhaps _purposely_ unnoticed."

Mon Mothma inclined her head stiffly, allowing that that was probably true – whether consciously, as it most likely was on Dodonna and Horm's part, or unconsciously, on hers.

"Still, a private, explicit word with me would have been appreciated. A vagueness about your status could have given us bargaining power with reluctant systems."

Leia smiled tightly.

"I've had quite enough of my physical person being used for the purposes of government," she said crisply – even the idea of insinuating she might marry should an alliance be made, and then baiting and switching the offer, was insulting to her, and to Han.

She'd never have put either of them in that position; and it was absolutely imperative the galaxy know that neither Leia Organa's body nor mind was for sale.

Mon Mothma studied her for a moment.

"I swore to your father I'd watch over you, Leia," she said.

"I've appreciated that very much," Leia said quietly – and quite sincerely. "Having people who care is never a negative."

"Then you understand why I might ask – how long has this affair with General Solo been going on?"

Leia considered her critically for a moment.

"It's not reversible," she said vaguely.

"Pardon me?"

"It's been consummated, if that is what you're asking," Leia informed her – the statement was blunt, almost challenging, but said so elegantly it couldn't be considered crass.

A pink tinge touched Mon Mothma's face, and she raised her eyes a moment -perhaps because she was embarrassed for asking, perhaps because she hadn't at all meant _that._

"Is it _wise_ , Leia?" she asked.

Leia's response was simply:

"You've crossed a line, Mon."

She took a pointed step back, and Han approached, resting his fingertips gently above her elbow.

"Ready?" he asked, his conversation with Rieekan finished. He did a double take at the expression on Mon Mothma's face, and his brow furrowed. Leia murmured a soft consent, and he let go of her, letting her follow him out of the room at her own pace.

She gave a cordial nod to the remaining occupants – Dodonna, Mon Mothma, Rieekan, and caught up to him, silently slipping her arm through his as they made their way from the Embassy's heart to the speeder parking.

The jaunt back to her - their – apartment was silent, windy, and chilly, and she kept her eyes closed, her head pillowed heavily on Han's shoulder as he expertly piloted the thing through Coruscant airspace.

It wasn't until he was locking the apartment door behind him that he said:

"What did you say to Madam Chief of State that had her looking like she'd seen a Hutt in a bikini?"

Unpinning her hair from its hastily done up braids, Leia drew her fingers through it silently, turning at their bedroom door.

"I told her we've had sex."

Han looked amused.

"Just once?" he snorted.

"I'm sure she'd like to think that," Leia answered breezily. He heard her continuing, as he followed her towards their bedroom. "I'm sure she's telling herself it was simply awful for me, I've sworn never to do it again," she simpered.

He caught up to her as she sat on the bed, unzipping the casual leather boots she'd worn. He knelt down on one knee and took over for her; she placed her hand on his shoulder while he shimmied the boot off.

"Was it awful?" he asked seriously.

"Devastatingly so," she returned.

He smirked at her. She moved her hand towards his neck, slipping her fingers into the hair at the back of his head.

"What did Carlist want?"

Han put one boot aside, and reached for the other, choosing his words carefully. He unzipped the other boot, and started gently shimmying it off as well. He didn't speak again until he had set it aside, and then he looked up, rubbing his jaw.

"To make sure I was up for this," he said.

"Up for what?" she asked softly.

"You," he answered quietly. "Your reaction to – whatever the hell is going on."

Leia pressed her lips together so tightly, they damn near disappeared. She turned her head away, and after a moment, Han stood up. He got the lights in the room, and came back, standing near her, his arm on a bedpost.

"Leia," he prompted.

She shifted onto her knees, and straightened, placing her hands on his hips, inching closer to him. He rested his free hand on her lower back gently, still gripping the post with his other.

She laid her forehead against his chest, closing her eyes lightly. For a moment, she relaxed her shoulders, relaxed her thoughts, considered letting it sink in – immediately, she felt dizzy, and overwhelmed, and then just as quickly as she'd let herself test the feelings, she locked them back up, shook her head, and tilted it up to him.

"I can't process this right now."

He nodded, his eyes full of concern.

"Okay," he murmured.

She moved her hands up to his neck, and pulled his face down to hers, kissing him desperately; passionately. She gripped his shoulders, and yanked him down to the bed with her, tumbling, until she was on top of him, half-unbraided hair spilling onto his shoulder. His fingers tangled up in it possessively.

"Weren't we in the middle of something earlier?" she asked huskily.

He fought the urge to lift her off of him, to make her at least just go to sleep if she didn't want to talk about this, address this – but she silently pleaded with him:

 _Make this go away. Make me forget for a while._

"Were we?" he asked, obeying her silent command, feigning innocence.

"Mmm," she mumbled, lowering her lips to his, pressing her body against his. "Let's do something _awful_ ," she whispered temptingly, a pert little reference to their conversation moments earlier.

He pulled her closer to him, deftly undoing the rest of her braid, moving his lips to her jaw, and her neck – he was positive this wasn't what Carlist Rieekan had in mind when he gruffly bid Han to be there for her, but if nothing else, at least Han knew Rieekan trusted him with her more than the others.

* * *

 _feedback always welcomed!_

 _-alexandra_


	4. Three

**a/n:** _can i just say i love writing Luke? i do. i love writing Luke. my desperate love for Luke Skywalker will never fade. also: giving Chewie dialogue is endlessley entertaining._

* * *

 ** _Three_**

* * *

There was no need for Luke Skywalker to make an appointment to see Princess Leia; when he decided to seek her out, he simply reached out through their connection and gently asked whether she was available. More often than not, she welcomed his presence, and so on a crisp afternoon he made his way to the Senate building and walked the familiar path to her office.

Her office at the Senate had quite a different feel than the one she kept at the Alderaanian Embassy; the latter had two expansive windows revealing a breathtaking view of the city – no doubt a testament to the Alderaanian tendency to love all things natural about all places. The open, nurturing atmosphere of that office also aligned better with the more humanitarian nature of her work with the Alderaanian Council, while her political office was more formal and businesslike – complete with two holovisions that were constantly turned on.

Neither of them ever showed the gossip channels, _especially_ now.

Luke tapped lightly on the door, and then nudged it open telepathically, striding in. Gently, he shut the door behind him with a another mental nudge, satisfied at the click. Leia looked up from her desk and smiled, gesturing to the seats in front of her desk.

"Luke, hey," she greeted.

"Hey," he answered. "Did you eat lunch today?" he checked.

Leia rolled her eyes mildly and flipped a piece of paper over, tapping something into her data pad.

"I did," she answered. She looked up through her lashes, and gave him a look. "Han sent Chewbacca with soup from a Chandrillian café," she said wryly.

"That says more about you than us," Luke said, arching a brow.

"What does it say about me?"

"You work too much."

Leia furrowed her brow; she found his statement to be ludicrous. She shook her head a little, and shrugged, bowing her head. She entered a few more things into her data pad, probably proving Luke's point, but ignoring that all the same.

"I'll be done in just a moment," she murmured. "I'm listening to you," she added, for assurance concerning whatever he might say.

He'd gotten back from one of his jaunts across the galaxy in search of Jedi secrets, and he liked to talk to her about it – said it helped him organize his thoughts. No doubt he also had curiosities about the closely guarded intelligence around the issue facing the Alderaanian Council; he'd gone to them two nights ago to offer his Force insight, and Leia hadn't met with him since.

"What _is_ Han up to today?" Luke asked.

Leia shrugged a little, studying something on a page.

"He had a meeting this morning," she said vaguely. "He hasn't had much to do since the fighting has died down. He's probably modifying the _Falcon_."

Luke laughed.

"You don't sound very interested," he told her, amused.

Leia folded over the last piece of paper and sat back, killing the light on her data pad. She blew a few wispy strands of hair out of her face and rested her elbow on the table, gesturing aimlessly with her hand.

"Should I be checking up on him?" she asked lightly. "Do you know something I don't?"

Luke grinned. He turned his head slightly, and a moment later, her Outer Rim news channel flicked to a gossip station, and on it was displayed a clip of Han pouring a bucket of water over his head at the bottom of the _Falcon's_ ramp. The clip cut off right as he shook his hand through his hair and kicked the bucket away. Below the clip ran the one liner: _General Solo Cleans Up For His Princess._

Leia lifted one eyebrow mildly.

"Aren't you using the Force a bit frivolously?" she asked dryly, shooting him an admonishing look. He let the channel linger a moment, and then flicked it back to the original station, smirking at her a little proudly. She sighed, tilting her head back.

"What's with the bucket?" Luke questioned.

Leia lifted her head.

"I've been here all day!" she protested, laughing. "I can't answer for all of Han's strange behavior," she snorted. She shrugged. "He probably got engine oil on him."

"Does he dump buckets of water on his head in lieu of a shower _often_?"

Leia clicked her tongue.

"You too?" she retorted. "Prying into all the mundane details of our private lives?"

"Mundane?" Luke quoted. "Surely Princess Leia and her concubine have details that are better than mundane."

" _Who_ called him my concubine?" Leia asked, her eyes wide – that one genuinely caught her off guard.

Luke flushed.

"Oh, I saw it on a talk show," he muttered sheepishly.

Leia leaned forward and pointed at him fiercely.

"Don't repeat _that_ one to Han," she ordered. "He _won't_ like that one."

Luke nodded, trying not to laugh – he was sure Leia would have heard that one, at least. Luke had been at the gala when she decided to so unequivocally establish her relationship, but he'd taken off for Kamino soon after, chasing Clone Wars lore. It was only when he was coming back towards Coruscant that he caught up on just how fascinated everyone was with the whole thing.

Leia shook her head.

"It's maddening," she said flatly. "Do they have nothing better to do than show clips of Han, lie in wait for photos of me, or us – "

"Like that one of you out to dinner four days ago?"

Leia grit her teeth, remembering keenly. She hadn't noticed the photographer at the time, but when she checked news clippings the next morning, it had somehow made it into her console's inbox, complete with a blown up section of the photo that showed her foot nestled comfortably where it _usually_ was when they went to dinner – sneaking up the leg of his trousers.

"Like that one," Leia muttered.

Luke sat back, spreading his hands out.

"Guess that's the price of going public."

"Public?" she snapped, a bit harshly. Her expression darkened. "When did I ever hide my relationship with Han? Mon Mothma, Dodonna, other council members – did they think I spearheaded his rescue from Jabba because I thought it would be a fun little vacation?" she grit her teeth. "The way some of them are acting is making Han think I _was_ downplaying it. It is not my fault if certain eyes were deliberately blind."

"Everyone had other things to worry about, Leia," Luke said gently, wincing at her anger. He didn't say what else came out his head, but she drew it out of him intuitively, and he heard his own thoughts in her voice:

"And they were so convinced I was the unfeeling, political Ice Queen that it never occurred to them I was a woman?"

Luke held his tongue. He'd never thought that of her, but he knew as well as she did what they'd used to say – that she'd never shown enough grief over Alderaan, that she was too methodological, and un-relatable.

Leia groaned softly and shook her head, holding her hand up.

"I don't want to hear anything else about the gossip channels," she said flatly. "Han and I don't watch them – I said what I did because I have no intention of marrying for the good of the Republic. If I'd known it would cause such an uproar – "

"You'd still have said it," Luke interrupted. "You're proud of Han."

"This whole _kriffing_ galaxy should be," she swore unexpectedly. "Where would any of us be if he hadn't turned around at Yavin?"

Her brother fell silent, and she rested her fingers against her chin, looking away a moment. Anger clenched in her stomach for a moment, and then evaporated, and she closed her eyes. The mere insinuation that Han might not be good enough for her, that he wasn't a wise - she thought of Mon Mothma's words bitterly – choice stung her.

She was of sound enough mind to make good choices for herself, and on that merit alone they shouldn't question what she wanted, but for people who had conferred rank and respect upon Han to withdraw from him when all he'd ever been was good to her –

She shook her head to herself, and looked back at Luke. He was looking at her solemnly, and she lowered her hand.

"They were trying to marry me to the Prince of Hapes," she sniffed – Luke knew that, but she just hated the memory of it. She shook her head, brushing her lips with her fingers again. Luke thought about the gala, and smiled to himself – he was more than happy Han and Leia had chosen each other, and seemed to be happy; he _wanted_ Leia to be happy. He so often felt responsible for the inner turmoil that plagued her, given what he'd revealed to her.

"I am happy," Leia said curtly, drawing his sentiment right out of his head. She grit her teeth a moment. "It's not your fault, Luke," she added, concerning that last part.

Luke blinked at her, and then narrowed his eyes.

"I wish you'd let me train you," he said bluntly – maybe then she'd stop yanking things left and right from his head when his guard was down; though her Force sensitivity was latent and utterly untapped, the connection he'd opened on Bespin two years ago seemed to work better for her – perhaps it was simply because she was female, and her sex was generally more perceptive to their emotional surroundings even in normal circumstances.

"No," Leia told him flatly, the same as always.

She didn't elaborate, and she took a deep breath.

"How was Kamino?" she asked politely.

Luke paused carefully before he decided to let the subject of her training die, and move on. He'd tried before to explain to her that he almost needed to train her, needed to finish his own training in that way, but Leia was caustic about the Force, evasive; he wouldn't go so far as to say she _hated_ it, but she certainly felt differently about it now, after learning the truth about Vader, than she had when she'd begged for Ben Kenobi's help years ago. The last time he'd gotten further than one 'no' from her about training, she'd gone for insults:

' _What can you teach me anyway? A couple of hours on the Falcon, and a few weeks with a decrepit Jedi in a forest isn't a glowing background, Luke!'_

She'd apologized later, but it had stung, and it had nudged his insecurities about his own lack of knowledge concerning this once vast religious order, and he wasn't keen on pushing her that far again.

"It was wet," Luke said. "It's their rainy season, and the world is aquatic. Never did understand why aquatic worlds need _rainy_ seasons." He sighed heavily. "There wasn't much about the Jedi. I spoke with an ancient native about the creation of the clone armies. The Jedi created them."

Leia's expression remained neutral.

"My father told me the Stormtroopers were a clone army," she said.

"I think it may have been the same one," Luke said. "Corrupted, or something like that. They had some records on the start of the Clone Wars – apparently the Jedi who sought activation of the army was Yoda," he paused, "the Empire took great pains to destroy everything they could about the past."

"Of course," Leia said simply. "Totalitarianism is very difficult if free information is available."

Luke nodded, disheartened – there was hardly any way for him to find out about his own past – their past – and everywhere he turned he found only bits and pieces, and he couldn't ever seem to fit them together into a complete tapestry. He tilted his head back a little, gripping the armrests on his chair.

He glanced at his sister thoughtfully.

"Did your father tell you anything else about the Clone Wars?" he asked carefully. "He lived them, after all."

"He never spoke about his personal experiences," she answered, her voice clipped, short. "Political causes, social atmosphere," she listed. "That's the kind of education I received. I think he felt it was too dangerous for me to know much; it would seem like he was grooming me to strike against the Empire. It was only when the Alliance coalesced that he became – cryptic."

"When he sought out Ben, you mean?"

Leia nodded.

"Did he talk to you about your adoption?"

Leia didn't answer. The single time she had ventured a question about her birth family, Bail Organa had told her that both her mother and father had died in the Clone Wars. He had never spoken their names, or revealed anything about their history. She'd assumed that meant he didn't know. Now, she often wondered if he had always known who her real father was.

"No," she said finally, shortly. "But I can tell you for sure that if he knew about Vader, and if he knew about you, my mother did not."

Leia knew that only because one time, Breha had made the innocent, and contradictory comment, that her life had been made unimaginably better the day Bail had brought Leia home from one of his humanitarian missions to human refugee villages in the outer reaches of the galaxy. Whatever had happened on Bail's part concerning the adoption, he'd lied to his wife about it.

To Leia's knowledge, it was the only thing Bail ever lied to Breha about.

Luke cleared his throat.

"Leia," he began quietly. "I think there's a pretty large Hutt in the room we're not addressing."

Leia folded her arms tightly.

"Then address it," she said.

She knew he meant the Alderaan issue; he had probably tried to draw her into the subject by bringing up her father in the first place. What better segue, after all. Ask about her adoption; ask about Bail – and _oh by the way_ , Leia, what's this I hear about a ship full of presumed dead Alderaanians? She pressed her lips together tightly.

"You asked me to consult with the monitoring team," Luke said. "Did you – read my report?"

Leia pointedly did not look at the stack of daily reports that Rieekan had forward to her, on her request. Reports she had yet to read, because she just wasn't sure she could handle it. She was much better at processing information abstractly, and never quite letting it sink in enough to feel it. She'd learned _that_ from losing something so massively significant as her entire world.

"You didn't," Luke gathered, nodding to himself. He rubbed his jaw. "Right – what do you think is going on here?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

"What do _you_ think is going on here?" she retorted.

Luke gave her a grimace. She pulled her lips back in something that looked like a sarcastic smile mated with a snarl.

"Vader, scrambling my head from the grave," she answered abrasively.

Luke learned forward, placing his hand flat on her desk.

"Vader doesn't exist anymore," he said, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"You've spoken with him since his death."

"Anakin Skywalker!" Luke insisted. "Vader ceased to exist before Anakin Skywalker – "

"The only man I ever saw was the one in the mask," she snapped.

Luke grit his teeth, and put his hand over his eyes for a moment. He decided to let it drop, or at least steer them away, from that in the quickest way possible. He sat back again, lowering his hand and curtly going on.

"It's not an ethereal ghost trying to drive you crazy," he said flatly, nettled. "That's your personal way of trying to cope with the possibility that Bail Organa is alive."

"He can't be alive, Luke," Leia said, eyes widening. "It's just preposterous – "

"If you'd been reading the reports you're given, you'd know the scientists have several possible theories – "

"Black holes, suspended animation? Time warps and gravitational shadows?" Leia spouted off. "Each one sounds more astronomically impossible than the last! It's desperation; it's grasping at straws!"

"You're going to sit there and call your peers, fellow Alderaanians, desperate for having hope?"

She swallowed hard, exasperated.

"Foolish hope," she said hoarsely.

She was half talking to herself. She refused to let herself dwell on this – on this wish, this idea that right as the world startled to settle into the slow, burgeoning stability of restored democracy, right as she had some time for herself, she might also get to hug her father again, to ask him questions – to see old friends, to see any Alderaanian –

She shook her head, shaking all the thoughts awake. She locked them behind a barrier.

"I didn't sense anything sinister about that seal," Luke said finally. "I felt no – lure of the dark side, no lingering residue of the Sith," he told her. "The cryptographers are saying it seems as authentic as – "

"I know it's authentic," Leia said, almost dismissively. "The bird is my device. It was added for me – the security signal in the corner."

Luke gave her an interested look.

"You had a device?"

Leia nodded. Her fingers brushed her lips.

"Was it a native bird?" Luke asked, curious.

She considered him a moment.

"You don't recognize the kind of bird it is?" she asked mildly.

Luke shrugged.

Leia smiled slightly, one of her brows ticking up.

"It was a falcon," she said. "The full device was a falcon on a solar flare."

Luke's mouth fell open slightly.

"A _falcon_?"

She nodded.

"Well that's prophetic," Luke snorted dryly.

Leia laughed.

"Does Han know?"

Leia just laughed again, and shook her head – she hadn't mentioned it. It was just a coincidence, but sometimes it was a coincidence that made her happy. It was likely Han didn't know what an organic falcon looked like; they were largely extinct on most systems. Alderaan, ever the conservation society, had still had them before the Disaster.

Luke shifted, shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his Jedi robes.

"I wanted to see if you need help dealing with this – prospect," he said earnestly.

Leia waved her hand dismissively.

"There's nothing to deal with at the moment," she said briskly. "I have things to worry about that are very real, very in the present," she said, indicating her data pad and other files on her desk. "There's no end to the trouble on Nkllon," she said, ticking down fingers as she talked, "Geonosis still hasn't been subdued, and for some absurd reason the current Senator from Naboo _refuses_ to work with Nemoidians."

"So, you're distracting yourself."

"I'm devoting myself to tangible problems in the here and now," she said diplomatically.

"Leia, you probably need to take a whole day to ask yourself what this could mean and how you're going to react!"

"Have you been talking to Han?"

Luke threw his hands up, at least relieved Han seemed to be poking at her about her behavior, as well. He understood her need to compartmentalize, to try and be rational – but it wasn't unacceptable for her to entertain some hope, or to feel some jitters or anxiety or – something!

"Well, thank Gods I'm not the only one who thinks you're being deliberately aloof."

Leia looked away from him. He didn't understand – it wasn't just that she was scared to feel anything about this; it was that she had experienced a deeply personal conflict with the ghost of her father since finding out that her progenitor was Darth Vader. She had questioned her upbringing, her destiny, the very nature of what she'd thought was free will – that might actually be careful manipulation. She was conflicted and hurting, and it seemed some sort of cosmic joke that the universe might thrust her father back into her life and make her confront it all.

"I just want to know what your state of mind is," Luke pleaded. "I know you don't like to discuss the Force, but your level of raw, unharnessed power could damage you if left to react with unresolved feelings."

"My state of mind," Leia said, sighing heavily, "is incomprehensible."

Luke couldn't possibly understand what it could mean for her, and for the Alderaanian diaspora, to find one of their leaders, to discover a ship that could have – advisors, loved ones, _survivors_. It could cause hysterics, jealousies; it could result in happiness, or resurgences of patriotism – she just didn't know what it could mean, and in the midst of it all, once again, were the whispers that Princess Leia was inhuman in her lack of emotion.

This time, though, it was closer to home; the issue was being closely guarded, only known to the inner circles of the New Republic, and instead of a whole Alliance judging her reactions, it was her closest remaining people.

"Is it so wrong for me to refrain from a melodramatic freak out until I have carefully evaluated, complete information?" she asked abruptly. "Was I supposed to need hospitalization over the barest flickering of a familiar signal?" she added, getting a bit more heated.

Luke shrugged.

"No, but ignoring the issue as much as possible is weird," he said bluntly.

"Can you even imagine what kind of shock hearing this was?" Leia asked him sharply. "Have you ever been just – blindsided?"

"Hmm," Luke murmured. "I was a little caught off guard when, after cutting my hand off, Darth Vader informed me he was my dad," he said, a little too brightly.

Leia gave him a heavily annoyed look.

"You've gotten extremely witty," she said, without a smile. "It's as if you leeched personality off of the Rogue Squadron, or Chewie – "

"Maybe I picked this up from Han."

"Han isn't funny," Leia retorted. "He just thinks he is, and no one ever corrected him because he's attractive."

Luke laughed.

"I'm telling him you said that."

"Go ahead," she challenged.

Luke shook his head fondly – sometimes, talking to Leia kept him on his toes more than dueling with the Emperor had. Leia rested her elbows on her desk and rubbed her temples with her fingertips, pursing her lips slightly – she saw the merit in Luke's arguments, but she just couldn't allow herself to be swallowed by this – this abstract, ludicrous possibility.

Still –

"You know what bothers me the most?" Leia asked quietly.

"What's that?"

"That, if by some insurmountable twist of fate this is real – that I might see my father again," she paused, and swallowed hard, "there are still hundreds of surviving Alderaanians who will never see _their_ loved ones again."

She closed her eyes heavily, for a moment, her shoulders sagging a little. The guilt of that thought was nearly as weighty as her guilt over the destruction of Alderaan.

Luke smiled at her a little sadly.

"I don't think anyone would begrudge you some happiness," he said gently.

She looked up sharply, her face conflicted.

"Don't you understand, Luke?" she asked softly. "I _found_ a way to be happy, to accept it. Now," she shook her head, words fading, silent.

Now she didn't know. Now it was all back at the surface – now everyone was questioning her romantic choices, when she'd finally stopped fretting about it so long ago, after the events of Bespin; now the careful equilibrium she'd found between living for the future and letting crushing depression over the events of her past swallow her was threatened.

Luke swallowed hard, able to feel her inner conflict, but unable to really offer any words that would help – and unexpectedly, she dropped a wall between them, and he couldn't sense a damn thing going on in her mind at all.

* * *

Han was giving his co-pilot the most baleful look in the galaxy as Chewbacca kept rewinding the clip he'd pulled up on his datapad and replaying it, contributing increasingly obnoxious commentary.

 _[And here you can see the native Corellian shaking his hair seductively - ]_

"I hate you," Han growled.

Chewbacca howled with laughter – both of them had no clue how footage of Han's quirky, albeit effective, habit of washing off after being neck-deep in the oilier part of the engines had gotten into the 'net so quickly, but Chewie was certainly enjoying the display.

"Why do you monitor that stuff?" Han griped, his feet up on the console of the _Falcon_.

His hair was dry now, and he didn't have any grease and oil on him. He was a little irritated about the tagline – about him cleaning up for Leia – because technically, that was exactly what he was doing. He'd intuitively picked up on the fact that she didn't like oil smudges on her sheets. By intuitively, of course, he meant that she'd chewed him out about it. Twice.

 _[They're hilarious!]_ Chewie pointed out, turning off the portable holo _. [Remember that one poll they ran on the hottest Corellian in the Galaxy? The one you_ lost _?]_

Han scowled.

"No," he said, with a casual shrug.

He _did_ remember it, because Wedge Antilles had showed it to him through fits of laughter. Antilles had then sent it to Leia, to 'lighten her mood' he claimed, and Leia had thought it was funny until the guy who beat out Han started sending her messages over the 'net suggesting that if she had a thing for Corellians, she should give him a call.

Chewbacca snorted to himself.

 _[I think it's nice the worlds are worried about frivolous things.]_ He remarked _. [It's better than constant news on death and destruction.]_

"Yeah," Han said heavily, rubbing his jaw. "That's what Leia said, too. Said this means we've got a good handle on things, now."

Chewbacca nodded sagely.

 _[How is she?]_ He asked thoughtfully.

Han had told him about the issue that had gotten them out of bed in the middle of night the other day. Despite the general level of secrecy surrounding the proceedings, he knew Leia would take no issue with Chewbacca being read in. She considered Chewbacca to be family as much as Han did, and had ever since they'd so closely bonded over their fight to get Han back from Fett and Jabba.

"Ahh," Han grumbled. "She's not okay," he said. "But, she won't admit it." He punctuated his statement with a stuff shrug.

 _[And what are you doing about that?]_ Chewbacca asked expectantly.

Han rubbed his jaw as he looked at his friend.

"I'm not harassing her about it," he said edgily. "She doesn't like that."

 _[When Malla doesn't want to talk about why she's upset, I groom her pelt until she's relaxed enough to confide in me.]_

Han stared at him skeptically.

"You know, some of your advice doesn't translate to humans."

 _[Do the human equivalent of grooming her pelt.]_

Han thought about it a minute, furrowing his brow.

"She falls asleep after the human equivalent," he muttered.

Chewbacca gave a bark of laughter.

 _[I thought that was a human male trait.]_

"It's also a Princess Leia trait," Han retorted. He gave Chewie a suspicious look. "Don't go sellin' that information to the gossip mongers."

Chewie snarled, affronted. He'd never betray the confidences of either of them – especially not Princess Leia. His respect and love for her rivaled his fierce friendship with Han.

 _[You could take her to Kashyyyk and hide for a while.]_ He suggested.

Han grunted.

"Don't tempt me, pal," he said under his breath.

The idea of whisking Leia away for an extended, secluded holiday was too good. The closest they'd gotten to something like that was a brief interlude on Corellia before the reconstruction started, and the reconstruction had taken them through the ringer, and in a thousand different directions.

 _[Malla and Lumpy would be happy to have you, and her.]_ Chewbacca went on. He tilted his head. _[Build a tree-home and have a couple of cubs before you come back]_ He teased.

"Take it easy, Chewie," Han retorted, waving his hand. "Bring up kids around Leia and she'll shut herself in another kriffin' dimension."

Chewbacca hummed with interest, silent for a moment. Then he snuffled a quiet inquiry.

"No, we're not even married yet," Han answered vaguely.

Chewbacca posed another question, almost eagerly.

"Sort of," Han mumbled.

He _had_ asked Leia to marry him – but not in any conventional, recognized sort of ritual. They'd been on Corellia, they'd been alone, they'd felt like everything was under control. The issue hadn't really come up again until – well, the other night, he supposed, when she talked about her last name, and his. Thinking about matrimony had just turned out to be utterly unrealistic when the Alliance reconvened as the fledgling New Republic, and a new kind of fight had started.

He'd never told Chewie about it, and he and Leia hadn't really taken any action to move forward on the topic of _his_ question and _her_ answer.

Watching Han, Chewbacca sensed the subject was personal, and he lightened the mood.

 _[Lots of beings have kids without weddings.]_ He pointed out slyly.

Han turned to him, eyes narrow.

"Hey, great idea, Chewie! I'll knock up the last Princess of Alderaan without making an honest woman of her first! Wow, what a way to win the hearts of everyone!" he said sarcastically, while Chewie laughed loudly.

Han made a rude hand gesture at him, rolling his eyes, and turned to the _Falcon's_ viewport, glancing out over the hanger where it was docked. He brooded slightly – he had no time to worry about children, and up until recently, he'd felt he and Leia had an understanding concerning their relationship that needed no legal confirmations, at least not until they had the time and the opportunity. Now – much as he hated to be affected by public commentary – he wondered, only slightly, if she'd never confronted him about a wedding because she second-guessed her answer on Corellia.

Particularly in light of – _this_.

Not that he'd begrudge Leia a reunion with her family, but he'd never exactly expected to have to go through the 'meet the parents' thing with a girl who was bona fide _royalty_. He wondered if it would put an end to all that he'd invested in her, and what they had together, and he wondered if somewhere in her silence on the issue, she was thinking about that, too.

 _[I don't know why you're so insecure.]_ Chewie barked suddenly, startling Han with his perception _. [This is a woman who for some reason, has put up with you for five years. She isn't going to listen to other people about her love life.]_

"She only liked me for the last two of those years," Han retorted.

 _[She only_ admitted _it then.]_ Chewbacca scoffed. _[The pheromones on both of you for the other three were_ sickening _.]_

Han glared at Chewie, gritting his teeth – unshakeable as he was about some things, the Wookiee's more animal perception of attraction and human interaction often – well, it grossed him out, and made him squirm.

"Whatever," Han said edgily. "I'm not insecure."

 _[You shouldn't be.]_

"I'm NOT."

 _[YOU SHOULDN'T BE.]_

"Chewie – what the – "

 _[I want you to hear it loud and clear!]_

Han rolled his eyes, and grumbled something about not needing a mother to watch over him, a comment that made Chewbacca snicker something that sounded _suspiciously_ like 'yes, you do.' Han slouched down in his chair some, brooding some more – he was worried about Leia; she really didn't want to talk about this Alderaan thing.

Which he understood, really; she didn't want to get her hopes up, and she had questions for her father that she'd already laid to rest as permanently unanswerable. So all that was stirred up again. Han knew Leia well, and he understood her very well, but because of that, sometimes he was uncertain how to proceed. Before they were together, they'd thrived on arguing – their verbal spats were legendary – but once they were in a relationship, fighting wasn't flirtation anymore; it was brutal, and threatening, and he tried to avoid causing arguments.

Unrealistic of him, sure, but a guy could dream.

 _[What do you think is going to happen?]_ Chewbacca growled softly. _[You think that signal is real?]_

"I don't know, Chewie," Han said heavily. "I think a lot of things are possible that I never would have believed in five years ago," he said frankly.

 _[That can be a good thing.]_

Han nodded absently. Grinding his teeth, he suddenly shot a venomous look at the video on Chewie's datapad.

"Every thing would be a damn sight easier if we weren't so interesting to everyone," he snapped at it.

He imagined it wouldn't be any different if he'd met her and taken up with her when she was an Imperial Senator; the holonet had always loved gossip, and they loved all kinds of celebrities: political, artistic, maniacal. When he was at the Academy, there had been a 'net show called _Who Wants to Date Darth Vader?_ that had been insanely popular, despite the fact that the man – or machine – in question was systematically enslaving non-humanoid species throughout the galaxy.

 _[I don't think all that is going to change anytime soon.]_ Chewbacca grumbled skeptically.

"Me either," Han agreed dully.

The only good thing to come of it was Leia had told him he didn't have to come to galas anymore, because his presence often distracted from whatever charity or political event was being honored. To an extent, gossip reporters had enough sense not to bombard Leia while she was clearly in a work environment, but they did not give the same respect to _General_ Solo.

Leia knew he hated those things. But he told her he'd still go to them if she wanted him to at some point.

"Hey," Han said, swiveling in his chair and sitting forward. "Why don't you come up for dinner tonight? Luke'll probably be there; he got back the other day. You and him can laugh about the gossip channels," Han added dryly, glaring a little.

Luke had forwarded him several frivolous news reports about Han Solo and the Princess with various sarcastic, mocking comments. He seemed to be firmly on Chewie's side when it came to blatant amusement at the current holonet obsession. Chewbacca nodded, pleased – more often than not, he spent his time on the _Falcon_ ; he was comfortable there. He had a room in Han and Leia's spacious new apartment, a place to make home while he was here, but he preferred his hammock, and the familiar smell of the ship.

Chewie got up, snuffling something about getting back to work on the modifications for the new shield they were installing. Han caught his arm, swinging his legs off the console and turning towards him.

"How was she when you took her lunch?" he asked.

Thinking ahead, he'd asked Chewie to drop by and give her something when he went to get their take-out. Leia – had a tendency to not eat while she was busy, stressed or – bottom line, she had a tendency to _not_ eat. Han liked to make sure she couldn't claim she'd forgotten, because with that excuse off the table, she usually came to her senses and ate.

 _[Busy.]_ Chewbacca answered. _[She seemed fine.]_ He went on honestly. _[I gave her a hug.]_ He added.

"Good," Han said, letting go of his arm and leaning back.

 _[She said I'm better at hugging than you.]_

"Now you're just being a gundark," Han growled at him, narrowing his eyes.

Chewbacca shrugged. He drew his lips back in a teasing Wookiee smile, and Han rolled his eyes – always a comedian, that one. He listened to Chewbacca lumber away, whistling something as he went, and he threw his head back tiredly, lingering in the cockpit. He ran his hand through his hair and scrunched his fingers up, frowning thoughtfully.

He seized onto Chewbacca's assurances that he need not be insecure; Chewie was _right_. It was an insult to Leia to doubt her, and he didn't doubt her. Still – some part of him wished he could make a grand gesture of devotion. They had both agreed not to speak to the press, and he did intend to uphold that, because he didn't want their private life splashed around anymore than she did.

Leia told the whole world she wasn't up for grabs; he wanted to repay her in kind.

* * *

 _feedback appreciated!_

 _-alexandra_


	5. Four

**a/n:** _a few really, **really** key notes: all of the "science" i've concocted here to "explain" what happened is, to put it inelegantly, total bullshit. there's no better word for it. i'm not an astrophysicist or anything close. the closest i've gotten to being a scientist is taking a class on the social effects of HIV. this is a fic, which is short for fiction, which means suspension of reality is a thing, and i intend to utilize it to hell and back. if it really, really bugs you to have total scientific unrealities galore, at least know i'm not even half claiming this is possible. but then again, the source material is fictional as well. and if Han Solo's whole Kessel claim to fame is based on scientific nonsense, my story can be too, right? onwards! _

* * *

_**Four**_

* * *

Two weeks after emergency council meeting, Leia once again found herself in one of the private antechambers of the Alderaanian Embassy. _This_ meeting convened on Rieekan's assessment of all available information, and took place at a perfectly acceptable hour – to an extent. It was in the waking hours of standard time, but it was also in the middle of dinner. Rieekan had insisted Mon Mothma and Jan Dodonna be present again, and thus the best time for them, as non-Alderaanians with other primary responsibilities, was after close of business.

Leia sat at the head of the table, speaking quietly with Mon Mothma and Rieekan, catching up on social odds and ends. The week had been brutally busy, and full of diplomatic setbacks, and Leia was tense – she wasn't sure how she felt about hearing all the information synthesized, and she was half-regretting her insistence to Han that she was fine, and he should stay at home.

As if on cue, Threkin Horm entered the room, looking around pointedly.

"I see Solo hasn't joined us today," he remarked, immediately convincing her she should have let Han come, if only to ensure Councilor Horm was as irritated as possible.

Leia could bear Mon Mothma's quiet concern, and even Dodonna's slightly put off grumbling; both were people who had known her as a young girl, and probably envisioned a much different, much more elegant future for her; preconceived notions were hard to overcome, and she allowed for that. What she did not allow for was Threkin's uncalled for disdain of Han, particularly since the former had spent much of his time cowering in fear while the rest of them risked their lives for freedom.

"I'd be happy to call him if you miss him, Threkin," Leia said simply.

Rieekan did her the favor of snorting, and hastily disguising it as a cough. Sourly, Horm turned up his nose, pushing a chair aside as he parked his hover-chair at the table.

"He's rubbing off on you, Your Highness," Horm told her impishly, expressing his distaste at her tart response.

Leia spread her hand out blithely.

"Every night," she remarked coolly.

Dansra Beezer laughed into her hand. General Dodonna cleared his throat sternly, giving Leia a slightly annoyed look that probably would have made her adoptive father proud.

"If you marry him," Dansra piped up, bright eyes glinting. "Can I call him Prince Solo?"

"You've never even really met Solo, Dan," Kell Tainer, her fellow pilot, snorted. "Being in the same room with him doesn't count."

"Yes, I have! I shot a TIE fighter off his tail once, at Sullust."

"We'd hardly confer the title of consort on Han Solo!" wailed Horm.

"I can't believe this discussion is happening," Rieekan said, speaking over everyone. Though he had a somewhat amused look on his face, he seemed to be speaking up more for Leia's comfort than in support of Han's detractors.

"There are more important matters at hand," Mon Mothma said in a clipped tone.

"We're coping, ma'am," Dansra said, hushing her voice and adopting a serious expression.

Leia smiled slightly – a winning argument, to be sure. One could get away with quite a bit with the serious claim that it was a coping mechanism, particularly if one was an Alderaanian. There was no real precedent concerning coping with the obliteration of your entire world.

"I think Her Highness's romantic entanglements are going to become very important if Bail Organa is on that ship," Threkin said unhelpfully.

"I'm sure that's the first thing he'll be concerned with," Tyr Taskeen spoke up, deadpan. "He'll be briefed on the destruction of the Empire he rebelled against, the restoration of order to the Galaxy, and the possible return of the Jedi order, and his first question will be _'gee, has anyone kissed my daughter lately_?'"

General Dodonna leaned forward, and rapped his knuckles sharply on the table.

"Are we here for a council meeting or aren't we?" he demanded, looking increasingly more annoyed than he had five minutes ago.

Leia immediately took his cue, setting her shoulders back formally.

"It sounds as if a few of you have come to the conclusion that there is a ship in distress, and Bail Organa is, in fact, on it," she said tightly.

Her tone put to rest any levity in conversation, and turned all of their attention to the pressing matter at hand – a matter she'd be more able to address if she'd done more than cursorily scan the reports she was getting. As it were, she was here to receive the intelligence in bulk and to – and to see what she would make of it now, with more information available.

"Well, put simply, _yes_ ," Tyr said, swiveling towards the projection holo-screen and flicking it on with a remote device. "I don't think we can accurately attest to who is on the Alderaanian ship languishing somewhere in the wreckage, but Intelligence has come to the conclusion that there almost certainly is a ship there."

"No other ship aside from Viceroy Organa's would use that seal though, correct?" Kell asked.

"That doesn't mean he's on the ship," Tyr answered mildly.

Kell appeared frustrated, and Rieekan leaned forward.

"I think it's unlikely Viceroy Organa sent a bunch of people off for a joyride on his state ship, don't you, Taskeen?" he asked pointedly.

"I'm attempting to address this situation with the fairest amount of – er, pessimism," Tyr said, flicking his eyes to Leia. "I don't want to get any – hopes up."

"Why don't you address the situation in its entirety," Leia requested gently, "and we'll go from there."

"Start with the beginning of the brief," Dodonna said gruffly, waving his hand.

Rieekan leaned back, folding his arms. He glanced at Leia for a moment, wondering why she, of all people, hadn't memorized the reports that had been keeping them updated. Then, he turned his focus onto Taskeen and his presentation.

"At our last formal meeting, one of the staff monitors had stumbled across the flicker of a distress signal, possibly that of House Organa," Tyr started, showing the original image on screen. "Princess Leia instructed us in the best way to go about dealing with such a shock so," Tyr paused, clicking through a slide show slowly, but rapidly enough to show progression of the image, "we monitored the area around the clock to see if the signal strengthened, reappeared, or seemed to be a fluke."

"It continued to appear, and after about four days, became a fixture," Rieekan added, gesturing to the final picture. "That's the signal at full strength; it held for a full three days, but the problem is, it's now disappeared, and we can't raise it again."

"We had plenty of cryptographers go over and over the symbol to see if it showed signs of forgery – not of the seal itself, since your trusted council already provided us that, but of the heat signature, the image – basically, to see if it seemed like a hack from within the technology rather than a genuine broadcast from without." Tyr ventured, clicking to another slide.

"And we found that that signal is very clearly, almost inarguably, coming from the outskirts of the former Alderaanian orbit," Kell noted flatly.

Leia leaned forward, her eyes on the screen.

"It's authentic," she murmured.

"We put the best of our analytical abilities to it, Your Highness," Tyr said. "It's authentic. That," he said, pointing sharply, "is a bona fide distress signal from a tangible ship."

"A ship that _has_ to be the Alderaanian flagship," Leia said, following logically, "or it wouldn't have those colours – so it's not a ship that wandered into the wreckage accidentally, or miscalculated hyperspace and got itself into trouble."

She wasn't really asking questions, she was talking herself through what was starting to be a very jittery, daunting realization. She compressed her lips, and swallowed hard, closing her eyes so briefly that the only person who noticed her taking a moment was Rieekan, sitting right next to her.

"Are there any other significant analyses?" she asked quietly.

"It's difficult to run checks for evidence of life from a small room on Coruscant," Kell said, rubbing his jaw. "We weren't able to get biological traces – that Braxxer kid, he told me he used our most advanced technology to try and make contact, using old codes from _Tantive IV_ , but there was no response."

"Well, I expect the communications system is having some trouble," Dodonna said, speaking up thoughtfully. "If the ship has been through some sort of cataclysmic event, it could have wiped out electrical systems, and back-up systems."

"Then wouldn't it follow that everyone on the ship is dead?" Dansra asked, somewhat obliquely.

"Not exactly," Leia said, holding up a hand for caution. "Any sort of system issues would have been backed by generators, and all power would have gone to life support first," she murmured. "So, essentially, communications could be out without the ship being a flying graveyard."

If her words came across as callous, she didn't stop to think about it – that was how she had to deal with this situation. She had to think like a politician, like a leader – not like the nineteen-year-old girl who had lost her whole planet five years ago, and was suddenly very desperate to salvage anything, even if it was an empty ship, that might remain.

"That's actually where the tricky part comes in," Rieekan said, clearing his throat.

He gave Leia a hesitant look out of the corner of his eye, and stood up, his hands automatically clasping behind his back in a General's stance.

"The obvious question before us now is – what are we going to do?" he began, and he didn't get any further before Threkin Horm interrupted.

"We're going to send an envoy to bring the Viceroy here!" he nearly roared, his face turning pink with disbelief. "Carlist, are you out of your mind? This is Bail Organa – we don't need to waste time debating in a committee to know action needs to be taken!"

"Threkin, I'm well aware that the likelihood of Viceroy Organa being on that ship is high, and I'm sure I'm just as desperate to get some answers as you are," he said firmly, "but no one is going careening off into this without a well-thought out plan."

"Wait a moment, Carlist," Leia interrupted. She pursed her lips. "I've heard no plausible explanation for how any ship could have survived the initial destruction – and remain lost all this time," she noted, a little sharply. "Not to mention Tyr said the signal has died and can't be raised again, which seems suspicious considering it's now got our attention. Unbelievable as it is, this could still be a very cleverly executed trap."

"Taskeen?" prompted Rieekan, nodding.

"The scientists we consulted proposed several possibilities," Tyr said, clicking his remote. Several drawings and calculations appeared on screen; Leia narrowed her eyes at them, overwhelmed. Advanced, top tier mathematics and astrophysics had never been her strong point academically; beyond flying a ship and doing the proper calculations for hyperspace or navigation, she relied on those more informed than her.

"Any of them viable?" Mon Mothma asked in her calm, soothing voice.

"One of the most respected theorists from Corellia is suggesting a White Hole," Taskeen said hesitantly.

"Those are so rare – they're barely even proven!" gasped Dansra.

"I'm not even sure I know what the hell that is," Kell remarked, leaning forward heavily. He cupped his chin in his hand, resting his elbows on his knees.

"It's, ah – a lot to take in," Taskeen said dryly, rubbing his forehead. "I still don't know if I get it – but the thing is, it's the opposite of a black hole, essentially; nothing can get out of a black hole. Conversely, everything can get in to a white hole."

"Then how - ?" began Threkin, blustering. His face was red with concentration, and there was a thin line of sweat above his upper lip.

"They're saying it could take years to analyze and mathematically define what happened to the space where Alderaan used to be," Taskeen said quietly. "Wormholes probably appeared, rips in the fabric of space around it – the bottom line is, this scientist thinks a departing ship could have been sucked into a maelstrom of astrophysical storms, trapped in the center of a white hole as it originated, and then spat out – well, now."

Threkin made a strangled noise.

"And this great mind is from Corellia? I didn't know Corellia had great minds," he sneered.

"All sentient planets in this galaxy contribute to our knowledge," Mon Mothma said sharply, eyeing Horm unhappily as Leia shot him a nasty look.

Swallowing hard, Leia sat back in her seat, looking back to the theoretical sketches, her eyes frozen on them. A Corellian scientist – it almost seemed like an omen of hope, like finding out the ship rescuing her was named for a falcon had soothed her back when she'd barely known if she could trust Han Solo and Luke Skywalker.

"And the ship signal disappearing?" Leia asked softly.

"Oh, that's easier to explain," Kell spoke up, shrugging. "It probably took all they had to finally get that distress signal working. Probably just gave out on itself."

Leia compressed her lips.

Rieekan paced a few times, rubbed his jaw, and then faced them all.

"We've got a viable explanation for this occurring, and more than one person verifying that there's a ship emitting a serious distress call out there," he said. He glanced at Leia, as if to ask if he could move on with his earlier train of thought. She inclined her head, her face slightly pale.

Rieekan took a deep breath.

"The next step is to decide what we're going to do about it," he said heavily.

"We're not going to ignore it," Dansra said fiercely. "I'll fly out there myself – I'll fly alone," she insisted.

"Count me in," Kell volunteered. "The chance to see anyone from home? Hell, I don't care if I've never heard of 'em before in my life."

A faint smile touched Leia's lips, but it didn't reach her eyes – she felt strange. Not affected by the Force; it wasn't that kind of bad feeling, that kind of premonition – she just felt disoriented, and utterly shocked. She wasn't sure she was in the state of mind to be making these kinds of decisions.

"We still have to proceed with caution," Dodonna said warily. "Princess Leia's time on the Death Star has to be taken into account and – if there are dark forces at work, we cannot send anyone, especially the last remaining Alderaanians and their leaders, into a trap."

"The Emperor is dead," Dansra said earnestly. "Commander Skywalker destroyed the Sith – "

"There are Sith as long as there are Jedi," Leia said flatly.

It wasn't something Luke had told her, or something she inherently felt – no; it was something she had heard growing up, from Bail Organa himself. It came to the surface of her mind now, foreboding – though she couldn't tell if she was just fearing the uncertainty, or genuinely being warned by intuition that something was afoot.

"These are all good points," Rieekan said. "The scale of rescue mission needed would be substantial, to enter such an unstable region, and with the New Republic still hanging on by precarious footholds – I don't know how wise it is to divert large amounts of resources, and attention, for a wild mynock chase."

He paused, and Leia tilted her head up, her brown eyes on him guardedly. She swore he wasn't looking at her, and she sensed pain in his jaw, and in the lines of his brow, as he took a deep breath.

"We need to discuss, and vote, on whether or not we're going to risk a scout mission, and a large investment of troops, on what is going to be perceived as – an almost absolute impossibility, if not an obvious trap."

Leia swallowed hard, understanding without question why it pained him so much to say it. Because he was asking them – her, really, he was asking her – to consider simply abandoning whoever was on that ship in order to preserve stability and minimize risks at all costs. He was thinking like a general, not an Alderaanian – because she knew Carlist, and she knew deep down, he was aching to lead the mission himself – just like Dansra was.

Leia, for one, suddenly experienced a crippling fear of the very idea of a scout mission – of what it would find, of what it wouldn't. The thought of having her world upended again was so very intimidating and – sickening, and it sickened her more to think even a small part of her wanted to remain how she was, even at the expense of hugging her father again.

She swallowed hard – no; all said and done, she didn't feel that way. But considering her state of mind, and considering that she was likely the only one who had flesh and blood - adopted or not – on that ship, she knew it was imperative that she make the discussion easier on all of them.

Leia cleared her throat softly, gaining the silent attention of them all with that simple but commanding noise.

"I am going to recuse myself from this decision," she said quietly.

"What?" Dodonna asked, taken aback.

The others, save Rieekan and Mon Mothma, looked at her like she'd grown a second head.

"Your Highness," Dansra said, leaning towards her. "If it's anyone's decision, it should be yours!" she pointed out, clearly confused. "He's your father!"

"You're our leader," Tyr remarked in his level, logical voice, his cool eyes resting on hers.

"I know it seems counterintuitive, but it's the best course of action," Leia said. "If everything went to plan and turned out like a fairytale, no one would think twice," she went on, "but if there was some unmitigated disaster, and we lost resources, ships, lives," she listed, and then paused. She shook her head. "There don't need to be any accusations of abuses of power on my part, or the Council's part. Not with the political situation so fragile."

"But Your Highness –" started Threkin.

"We need to be ensuring the systems can trust the New Republic," Leia interrupted, quieting him. "The way to go about that is not making them think I have personal sway over elected officials."

"We're still technically in an interim government," Dodonna said quickly. "Once elections take place – it could be you in Mon's position."

"Tell us how you really feel, Jan," Rieekan muttered, as Mon Mothma lifted a dark brow.

"Are you running?" Threkin demanded of Leia.

Leia sidestepped that question.

"Jan, if I was the head of the New Republic, it would be an even more egregious act to make the decision myself without proper input from experts and other votes! Send off military scouts on a mission that, for all intents and purposes, sounds unbelievable and downright absurd – when I have a personal investment? It's political death, no matter what the result."

"I'm stunned you're able to think about this politically," Dodonna remarked.

Provoked, and a little on edge already, Leia turned to him sharply, her eyes flashing.

"Would you prefer I begin sobbing hysterically and demanding someone get me my Daddy, General?" she lashed out harshly.

Complete silence fell on the room.

Rieekan's hand came down gently on Leia's shoulder, and after a moment, she straightened her shoulders with a sharp intake of breath and felt her cheeks burn; she could kick herself for behaving so – so –

"Tensions are running understandably high," Mon Mothma said, raising her elegant hands soothingly. "I think it's commendable that Princess Leia offered to recuse herself to make the deliberation – less pressured."

Leia swallowed hard.

"There's no need for you to be looking me in the eye while we debate leaving the Organa flagship stranded," she pointed out hoarsely.

"But Princess – Your Highness, do you think we'd choose not to send something out?" Dansra pleaded.

"We might," Kell said suddenly.

Dansra looked about ready to strangle him, but he rubbed his jaw tiredly, his face haggard.

"Dansra, it's a hell of a dangerous mission – there could be injuries, there could be massive repairs needed – it's still at least somewhat plausible that it's a trap, or a flawlessly executed hoax set up to somehow unhinge Princess Leia," he listed, his eyes working critically. "And we can't necessarily send a bunch of our own to check it out – most Alderaanians left are not military, or medical – or anything other than ordinary, really."

"I'd give my life for Alderaan," Dansra said.

"We all would, once," Tyr said quietly.

"What's changed now?" she demanded.

Leia read Tyr's answer in his eyes, and she answered for him – because she understood it, too; she understood it deeply.

 _Lineage_ , she thought, as she chose her words:

"Dying for a world isn't so much of an honor if your death brings that race one step closer to extinction," she said quietly.

 _You're not even a real Alderaanian,_ a voice whispered in the back of her mind. _You don't know what you are. Where you were born._

Leia clenched her teeth, and forced the thoughts away – that was one of the new things she struggled with these days: feeling like an imposter to this diaspora that looked to her for leadership and community. Sure, they knew she was adopted, but would they still claim her if they knew who had really fathered her?

Before anyone could start getting heated again, Leia rose.

"I trust all of you to weigh all the options and the intelligence and make a well-intentioned decision," she said sincerely. She took a moment to meet each of their eyes. "I intend to trust whatever decision that is."

"Princess – " began Dodonna.

Leia shook her head a little, and inclined her head to suggest she was bowing out. Rieekan cleared his throat.

"I'll return in a moment," he said, nodding.

He escorted Leia from the room, and waited until the door was closed behind them to reach out and touch her shoulder again – it was a paternal touch, comforting; he'd been the closest she'd had to a father since the Disaster.

"That was the right thing to do," he said, in case she needed to hear it. "Your father would be proud of that kind of fortitude."

Leia swallowed hard, her throat suddenly very dry.

"Would he?" she asked, barely able to control her voice. She looked up. "And yet this all might be happening because the first thing he did when he heard I was taken was come right after me, consequences be damned."

Rieekan smiled tiredly.

"A different situation, Leia," he remarked. He paused thoughtfully. "A parent's love for a child is much different than a child's love for a parent," he said, a bit of pain in his lined face – Leia nodded to herself.

There was a dark part of her that simply wondered if Bail had set out to make sure she never discovered who Vader truly was to her.

"You'll be the first person we notify of our decision," Rieekan said.

Leia nodded stiffly. She felt like she couldn't breathe, and Rieekan frowned, hesitating.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

That seemed to jolt Leia out of her moment of terror; she snapped her eyes up, and quickly, her lost expression was replaced by a somewhat wry one, and she arched an eyebrow.

"You'd inevitably run into General Solo," she remarked. "I wouldn't want to scandalize you."

Rieekan laughed, a deep, comforting laugh that came from the heart. He rolled his eyes towards the door.

"They all _like_ Han," he noted, amused.

Leia merely gave him a tight-lipped smile. She turned to make her way to the Embassy courtyard to summon an air taxi – but she stopped a moment, turning back to him. She tilted her head up, uncertain for a moment, and then licked her lips.

"Carlist," she said hoarsely. "This can't be real."

He sighed heavily, the jovial twinkle in his eye fading – he felt the same way she did; the inability to have any hope, the crushing certainty that someone, some cruel celestial someone, was playing an awful cosmic joke on them. He didn't quite know what to say to her to make her feel better, so he just gave her a soft smile.

"Don't you think we've seen too much not to believe anything's possible?" he asked.

He let that linger for a moment before he turned and slipped back into the antechamber. Leia leaned against the wall a moment, tilting her head up and blinking at the ceiling. Her throat felt tight, and her chest felt heavy, but her eyes were dry as bone – they'd been dry as bone since this whole damn thing started, and she was starting to wonder if she'd tried so hard to control her emotions on the matter that she'd damaged her ability to feel it.

* * *

Sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, Han watched Luke meticulously cleaning out the grooves of his lightsaber. He shuffled Sabacc cards as if he had a purpose for them, repeating the same motion over and over, vaguely more fascinated than he should be with Luke's weapon. He was still unwilling to admit it was as cool as a _blaster_ , but – seeing Luke construct a new one of late had been interesting.

"Why d'you keep switching colours?" Han asked.

This most recent lightsaber of Luke's was blue again; not the same one he'd lost sometime during the war. His green weapon had taken a pretty disastrous hit during the last confrontation with the remnants of the empire.

"Is it a rank thing?" Han continued.

Luke smirked a little.

"No," he snorted. "If I'm the only one left, why worry about rank?"

"How'd you know it's not a rank thing if you can't find any records?" retorted Han, narrowing his eyes.

Luke looked up and flipped the thing on a moment, revealing its glowing blue streak. He killed the power, and then sat back, tossing it up a moment before hooking it onto his belt.

"Good point," he said, arching a brow. "Let's say blue means I'm Head Jedi. You can call me Your Excellency from now on."

"Ha," Han muttered. He looked down at his playing cards. "Good one, kid." He frowned slightly. "Why doesn't Leia have one?" he ventured curiously.

"She won't let me train her," Luke said flatly.

"But she's Force sensi – "

"They're not like blasters," Luke interrupted. "You can't hand them to any schmuck with a trigger finger. The crystals have sensitive properties. And part of the training is constructing your own."

Han gave Luke a sharp look.

"Hey, kid – you can't just hand anyone a blaster, either," he pointed out.

Luke nodded thoughtfully.

"Touché," he said, reaching for the holo remote.

"No," Han said, smacking it away from him. "Don't turn that on. I might have to look at myself."

"You want me to just sit here?" Luke whined.

"You're the one who came over!"

"I was looking for Leia," Luke retorted.

"Pick up a comlink and ask if she's here next time," Han laughed. "You shouldn't just show up anyway. What if she's _indecent_?"

Luke rolled his eyes.

"You can't avoid the holo forever just because of the gossip hounds," he said. "Is this what you do every night, just sit around and wait for Leia to get home?"

"She's usually not this late," Han said, somewhat evasively – he didn't technically need Luke knowing that's pretty much exactly what he did, since his military demands had died down. "She had a meeting with the Council."

"Hmmm," Luke mumbled.

"Any chance you can poke around and see what kind of mood she's in?" Han asked.

"Leia's unreadable," Luke grunted.

"Tell me about it," Han muttered.

The moment he said it, he heard the door slide open down the hall, and craned his neck. In a few seconds, Leia entered the living area, feet bare. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and she had a subtly manic look in her eyes. Upon seeing Luke, she stopped dead, lashes trembling slightly.

"Oh," she said, clenching her teeth. "Hi, Luke."

"Uhh," he said, clearly picking up on the fact that she hadn't expected to see him – and very probably hadn't wanted to.

Han turned his head.

"See you later, Luke," he said casually, though it translated more as a direct order to _leave_.

Luke nodded, and got up, tucking his robes around him. He nodded to Leia, giving her a warm, encouraging look, and mumbled an easy goodbye as he took his leave, deciding to save his questions for later. He'd just wanted to check in about the Alderaanian business, and here she was back from a meeting – he'd hear about how it went eventually, he presumed; it seemed like she had those kinds of things to discuss with Han.

Leia came forward slowly, standing over Han. His shoulder nudged against her knee, and he looked up at her. When they both heard the apartment door slide shut, ensuring they were alone, she collapsed heavily on the couch, digging her elbows into her knees and covering her mouth with her hands shakily.

He turned towards her, snaking his arm around the leg closest to him. At the touch, she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, hunching over until her face was buried in the dark, honey-coloured mess. She took a deep breath – he smelled so good, like aftershave, like the _Falcon_. He felt her lips against his scalp, and rubbed her leg gently, silent for a moment.

"How'd it go?" he asked finally.

She took a deep breath that sounded painfully hoarse, as if she hadn't breathed the whole journey home. She lifted her head from his, and he turned to look at her better, taking in her pale face, her large, intense eyes. It took her a moment to find her words.

"The seal seems authentic," she revealed, repeating, in simplest terms, what they'd all gone over at the meeting. "There are plausible – if barely – scientific theories available, they don't think the systems have been tampered with," she listed.

Han nodded, eyes on hers. He noticed her hands were shaking, and he reached for them.

"They're deciding what to do, how to proceed," she said mechanically. "Whether or not a task force will be dispatched."

Han started to nod again, and then he shifted, his eyes narrowing sharply.

" _They_?" he asked. "What about you? Why aren't _you_ deciding?"

She pulled her hands from his and spread them out desperately, palms to the ceiling.

"Because I'm not impartial, Han," she choked out. "It might be my father, it might be my mother – flying under that seal, and it's bound to be someone I have emotional ties to – "

"Then you should get a say in what happens!" Han defended.

She shook her head violently.

" _No_ ," she emphasized, for the second time tonight. "I'm too close to the situation – Han, don't worry; I voluntarily removed myself," she said, reaching out and touching his jaw gently. "No one denied me the chance."

"Leia," he said, exasperated. "No one would grudge you that! You deserve to – "

"Commandeer the military for a personal mission?" she challenged.

"Mon Mothma – hell, half the core systems – would authorize that in a heartbeat," he pointed out. He pushed himself up, abandoning the Sabacc cards on the floor. Folding his arms, he looked down at her a moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "Why won't you give yourself this?"

"It could be a trap, Han!" she insisted hoarsely. "A tactic to cripple our military, hold me ransom, unhinge stability – "

"But that's not what they think it is," he broke in, keeping his voice level – he was guessing, but considering what he'd heard last time, and what she'd mentioned in pieces since then, he suspected he was right. "They think there's a ship full of your people that needs a miracle – and that's more likely, Leia! The Empire is gone – whatever's left is – is – " he faltered.

He didn't know what he was trying to say; he knew they'd be battling the dregs of the Empire for years to come. The galaxy was huge, and rebuilding it into a democracy was going to take time – but the largest threats, the remaining Grand Moffs, the Sith – they were gone, and a hoax of this sophistication, even Leia had to know, would have to come from some sinister playbook yet undiscovered.

He lifted his shoulders helplessly.

"I can't figure out why you're not leading the charge, sweetheart," he said finally.

Leia looked at him stonily for a moment, and then her face fell and she put her head in her hands, beginning to sob. He sat down next to her heavily, arm automatically slipping around her heaving shoulders, and she turned into him.

"It was all gone," she cried. "Everything – the planet, the palaces, native species – _people,_ people I loved, people I'd never met – _gone_!" She took a deep breath, swallowing it hard. "Coping with that – has been unimaginable – I mourned, I've tried to move on – can't you understand why I can't let myself for a second hope anything is going to come of this?"

She put her hand on his knee and dug her nails into the fabric of his trousers and deeper, to the flesh beneath.

"It's as if I'm facing it all over again, _fresh_ , whether or not anything comes of it – Han, I can't even comprehend what seeing him again would be like – what seeing my mother would be like – "

She pulled back from him.

"What would you do if someone suddenly told you your mother was okay; she was on her way home?" she asked, her face stricken.

He swallowed, his arm heavy on her shoulder, his hand settling at the nape of her neck. He couldn't imagine what he'd do – and he figured that's exactly what she meant; he couldn't even imagine it in abstract, and here she was, with this almost-tangible possibility, and the whole world already watching her.

Her shoulders trembled violently.

"There's this nasty, self-conscious voice in my head," she confessed shakily, "it taunts me when I dare to let myself think of him, of my father – and all it does, _all_ it does is whisper _Vader's your father._ It reminds me that if there's any – impossible sort of reunion, it will never be like it was. I've seen too much. I _know_ too much. Alderaan is gone. Who I was on Alderaan is _gone_. And in a terrible way, this puts all of that into perspective, it means everything has to be confronted – I will be torn between the world I have to live in now and a past world that I no longer think I belonged in."

She swallowed, her lashes fluttering frantically for a moment.

In the brief silence, Han ventured:

"Leia, you aren't worried your father won't love you anymore?"

She shook her head, tears spilling out of her eyes.

"I don't know how _I_ feel about him," she confessed, her face white as a sheet. "There are so many things he didn't tell me – " she broke off. "There was a part of me that was always glad he never had to see me like this."

Han moved his fingertips into her hair gently, his eyes on hers intently. He gave her a small smile, tilting his head.

"You mean, shacked up with a smuggler?" he asked.

"Damaged," Leia corrected, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips only briefly.

"There's nothing wrong with you, sweetheart," Han soothed.

She leaned forward into him, taking a fistful of his shirt in her hand and squeezing it until her knuckles turned white. She closed her eyes, breathing unevenly, trying to take a moment to quell her crying – she hadn't meant for this to happen; she didn't like crying around Han. He never seemed to mind, and maybe that was why she hated it. Because he was so good about it, and that kept her vulnerable, and vulnerability was terrifying.

"Things like this don't happen," she murmured faintly into his chest.

Han ran his hand over her back, considering the improbability – the sheer improbability that there were survivors, that some freak phenomenon had occurred that made it possible, that would thrust some of Alderaan's most important back into the arena at the exact point that the galaxy stabilized, and Leia started having too much time to think.

 _I have too much time to think_ \- that's what she'd told him, curled up at his side one night after a particularly brutal nightmare, unable to sleep for the fifth time that week. _Fighting the Empire was keeping me sane,_ she said.

She'd told him he'd better get out while he still could, run off with the pirates, and the bandits who weren't beholden to Ice Princesses and the new law of the land. Instead, he'd accepted a commission as a General in the New Republic, because as far as he was concerned, he'd made a commitment on Corellia, ceremony or no, and besides, when you overthrew the galaxy's most oppressive regime at someone's side, you didn't go running at the first hint of a little post traumatic stress disorder.

Gods knew, they all had it.

He shrugged gently.

"Maybe they do happen, Leia," he offered softly.

She pressed her knuckles into his chest desperately.

"Don't ask me to face it until it's _real_ ," she pleaded hoarsely.

It all weighed so heavily on her – the darkness that might be lurking, the hope that seemed just out of reach. She felt elation, she felt anger, she felt guilt – guilt, because she'd grown so used to the equilibrium she found in the New Republic, the new life she was carving with Han and Luke, with Chewie, and this new generation – and to have it all be shaken up by a collision with a life she'd laid to rest –

She shivered, wishing she could simply melt into Han and disappear, find peace somewhere in the sound of his heart, or the rhythm of his pulse. Han leaned back, pulling her with him, and pulled her closer, wrapping both arms around her as comfortably as he could. She felt more at home here, with her nose at his collarbone, than she'd ever felt in any single place since Alderaan's light had been extinguished.

Han closed his eyes, his hands moving over her lightly, offering silent comfort, until at least her tears stopped, and she was breathing comfortably again. He sensed she was still awake, but he let her have her silence, her quiet reconstruction of the controlled exterior that usually held everything together.

He wondered what conclusion the Alderaanian Council would come to; he wondered if they'd assess it as too much of a risk, if they'd share Leia's stark fear that this was a cosmic prank, that something had to be wrong – but even then, this seemed like providence, a miracle, and it couldn't just be abandoned because of tactical, risk-management decision making.

That wasn't something he was willing to see happen. In the grand scheme of things, something like this could not go unanswered; it wasn't a decision he was going to sit on the sidelines for. He wasn't Alderaanian, and he hardly expected anyone to consult him due to his personal relationship with Leia, considering so many of them wanted to deny it existed – he was not one of the inner circle, but he was a General of the New Republic, and he had been to the Alderaan System in the wake of the destruction before – and with Leia's emotional well-being hanging in the balance, he found himself devising the simplest solution; much like his scout mission to Endor, all he'd need was a skilled, volunteer crew.

* * *

 _quick reminder yet again that my idea was 'Hey, what if Bail Organa was somehow a survivor' - which means i had to cobble together some pseudoscience for that to be a thing. enjoy the story or don't, but try not to nitpick the science with me. i know it's not accurate. the story isn't really about that, at the core._

 _-alexandra_


	6. Five

_**a/n:** thanks for being so nice about the science! i just never know what people are going to come at me about, so i try to be up front with the reminders that, you know, it's fiction, which is by definition ... not real. i'm jaded by my experience in my last fandom - i wrote for crime shows, which are BLATANTLY unrealistic on TV, and still got crap from all sides! anyway, here's some more of Rieekan being a gem..._

* * *

 _ **Five**_

* * *

There were several cafeterias scattered throughout the massive Galactic Senate building; Luke assumed they had always buzzed with activity, but the beauty of it now was how diverse that activity was. Where the Empire had allowed no non-humans to be a part of government, the New Republic tried to include all who would uphold democracy, and thus there were species galore surrounding the table where he and General Rieekan had taken up residence.

"There are some whisperings of asking you to command outreach diplomatic missions to the more hostile systems," Rieekan was saying, hunching over his food – he was ignoring it in favor of chatting with the man opposite him.

"I'm not a diplomat," Luke laughed.

"You're highly trusted, though, highly visible," Rieekan pointed out. "And – "

"Diplomacy is Leia's talent."

"Frankly, Princess Leia can't get anything done right now – she opens her mouth to talk about resolution of the long-standing Nemoidia-Naboo hostility, and someone asks her if General Solo's got a tattoo on his ass," Rieekan said bluntly.

Luke blinked solemnly.

"Did someone really ask her that?" he asked, amused. He'd been a little preoccupied with other things in the past day or so – Leia revealing the status of the Alderaan question, for one, and Han quietly confiding what he was going to do about it.

Rieekan nodded, and Luke leaned forward.

"What did she say?" he snorted.

Rieekan shrugged.

"I don't even think she addressed the question," he said. "But it got me wondering why someone would ask that," he added wryly.

"Hmm," Luke muttered thoughtfully. He gave Rieekan a guarded look. "I wonder why they even think she'd know – "

"Skywalker, kid, I know you're young – but _damn_ ," Rieekan broke in, giving him a disbelieving look. "You aren't _that_ naïve. They _live_ together. They disappeared together for _months."_

Luke shrugged.

"I don't know what Leia's keeping secret and what she's not anymore," he sighed. "And, to level with you, I'm not sure which of the former Alliance heads are protecting her – er, innocence – and which ones don't give two credits about it."

Rieekan snorted, and gestured to himself.

"Well, _I'm_ not an idiot," he said.

"S'long as you know it's more than just a schoolgirl crush," Luke advised, slightly protectively. His sister had enough to worry about without people harassing her about her romantic choices.

"It's not like I thought they were baking muffins when they disappeared for a month after Hoth," Rieekan muttered to himself. He sighed, and rubbed his jaw. "Look, Luke, I've known the Princess since she was eleven, and she was never going to be the type of tame royalty her aunts wanted her to be. Besides, the former High Council," he said delicately, "was likely not privy to the details of Leia's personal romantic life before Han Solo, so I'm not sure why they've assumed he somehow _...swindled_ her out of her...what were you calling it, _innocence?_ The Organas were very circumspect, but non of them were ever naïve or particularly frigid, and Princess Leia used to sneak out of the palace a _lot. "_

Luke looked bemused.

"So she was a royal tramp back in the day?" he joked.

Rieekan looked incredibly affronted at the jest, his lip stiffening protectively, and he glared at Luke.

"I simply meant that we didn't know anything about her - I despise this word, Skywalker - _innocence,_ or lacktherof, when she was an Alderaanian senator, so it's nothing more than wild conjecture to presume that Han...stole it. And it seems an, uh, inappropriate thing to concern ourselves with."

Rieekan blinked at Luke awkwardly. Luke blinked back. He cleared his throat, steering the conversation away from the completely absurd breakfast topic of whether or not Han Solo was the first person to claim the Princess of Alderaan.

"So you aren't giving her trouble about – "

"I'm not giving her trouble about anything," Rieekan said, relieved to move on. He really had no idea what the Princess' romantic life experiences entailed, but he'd never felt she was the type who needed others to hold her own for her when it came to men. If she could handle senators, she could easily handle suitors. "I'm in her corner on just about anything that comes along."

"With this Alderaan decision?"

Rieekan eyed him carefully. He picked up a fruit from his tray and started peeling it. He nodded slowly, considering Luke.

"I tried to give the arguments I thought she'd make, if she could be impartial – hell, even if she was being _partial_ ," he allowed.

Luke nodded firmly, and after a moment, Rieekan went on with the previous conversation.

"They want you in the hostile sectors because of your Force sensitivity – if they come to you, and you take it, you might have some clout to ask for a financial endowment to continue your search for the Jedi temple," he stated.

Luke frowned, leaning back. He heard Rieekan's words, but he was still thinking about Leia, and Alderaan.

"Is there going to be any sort of press release about this, before the mission?" Luke asked, essentially ignoring Rieekan's other topic.

Rieekan paused, and lowered his voice, leaning forward again.

"No, it's to be strictly kept within inner circles, though Leia advised she'd read in Chewbacca," he said. He took a knife and sliced his fruit in half. "Solo really saved the day, stepping in like that – he's probably best to lead it, but we'd never have asked him, for her sake."

Luke sighed tensely, a muscle in his jaw jumping. The whole council saw it that way, but –

"Leia's not going to see it that way," he said, frowning.

Rieekan stopped sawing apart his fruit, and arched an eyebrow.

"She doesn't know he volunteered himself?" he asked dryly.

Luke shook his head.

"Han is supposed to be telling her today. He didn't want to rattle her before those meetings on defining the reach of War Crimes Tribunals open. He thought she'd be bothered enough."

"Yeah," Rieekan agreed, in a bit of a growl. "We thought she'd told him we were going to make it an all volunteer scout mission," he said edgily. "That wasn't why he showed up?"

"Han? Show up because he thought something through and talked it out extensively?" Luke retorted, eyes wide. "No, apparently he got up the next morning, and he'd already planned on volunteering when Leia told him that was the verdict!"

"And he didn't tell her he was going to – " Rieekan started.

"She told me after work last night that the Council would put subtle feelers out, through Dodonna, to see what level of interest they could inspire in their most trusted pilots," Luke said flatly. "Then, an hour later, I run into Han and Wedge, and he tells me he's hustling up a team to go."

Rieekan studied Luke intently for a moment, the lines in his face more pronounced.

"Kriff," he swore.

"You got that right."

"Princess Leia's going to think – "

"That Dodonna and Horm are conspiring to get him away from her?" supplied Luke.

"Something like that," Rieekan agreed dryly. "Not just that – I wouldn't have gone behind her back, if I'd known."

"Hold on," Luke held up a hand. He hesitated. "Han's not – it's not going behind her back, and I don't think he's trying to be – romantic, either," he muttered. "I think he knows he'd be better off asking forgiveness than permission."

"That sounds idiotic," Rieekan said bluntly, "and exactly like Solo," he added.

Luke ground his teeth together a moment.

"Not idiotic," he said, brow furrowing. He sighed, shaking his head. "Leia's stuck on this, Carlist," he admitted grudgingly. "She's paralyzed. I think Han sees it as taking action, being selfish _for_ her."

Rieekan sat back, his hands extended in front of him, completely abandoning all thought of his lunch. Put that way, it made sense – Leia's reticence about the subject, her cool determination to stick to logic, the debilitating pessimism she seemed to have in thinking it must be a trap, it must be a hoax – all of that was affecting her ability to invest, but it would also hold her back if the Council had decided not to pursue the issue.

If Solo's idea was to take that out of her hands, to be able to firmly answer the question –

"He's come a long way from the guy he used to be," Rieekan said, curling one of his hands into a fist.

Luke shrugged.

"I think he was always _this_ guy."

Rieekan couldn't really speak to that, but some of the vague worries he had about Leia's involvement with the former smuggler were laid to rest. General Solo had always proved to be a good man in a fight, and Rieekan trusted the Princess to determine if he was a good man in all other circumstances, as well. He'd never been like the others, like Threkin Horm or Mon Mothma, concerned about her status or the political clout her hand in marriage could provide them; he was just concerned about her well-being, which meant his only concerns about Solo - minor as they were - concerned her heart, and nothing else.

"Hey, Carlist," Luke began reluctantly. "I know there's some question now that the signal has disappeared but – you think this is legitimate, don't you?" he asked earnestly. "Han knows the risks but – you wouldn't even authorize a volunteer mission if it was that uncertain, would you?"

Rieekan rubbed his jaw. The signal had flickered feebly for a few days, and then died - and they couldn't raise it again.

"Our inability to see the signal again is troublesome," he murmured. He took a deep breath. "But, I think something is there. And I don't think I – or the Princess, or any of the rest of my people, would ever sleep easy if we don't figure out what. If anyone can get there and back in one piece, it's probably Han Solo," Rieekan added.

Luke nodded, swallowing a bit nervously. He searched his feelings constantly for insight into the matter, and he had none; he hoped for a word with Master Yoda, or Master Kenobi, but as the months went on, they appeared to him less and less – they wanted him to make his own path, not follow the orders of the Jedi who hadn't seen their own end coming.

"I'd lead them myself, but I have to be available to go to Espirion if things go south there," he swore.

Luke cracked a small, wry smile.

"Han made Chewie and I promise we'd stay behind with Leia," he said.

"You think she'll try to go?" Rieekan asked.

Luke shrugged.

"Will it matter?" he asked. "Will she be allowed to?"

"The Council would strongly oppose it," Rieekan said, as if it were obvious – and he knew Leia would probably not oppose them, if they voiced that; she was loyal to her duties to a fault sometimes, and she'd understand what kind of psychological blow it would be for Alderaan's diaspora if now, after all they'd come through, she threw her life away. "But, if push came to shove, I doubt anyone would stop her from doing what she wants."

Luke touched his finger to his temple, and then pointed at Rieekan.

"Tell them to keep that in mind when she marries him," he said dryly.

"Is that going to happen?" Rieekan asked mildly.

Luke shrugged. He supposed he didn't really know, and he certainly hadn't been told if there was any kind of – promise between them. Truthfully, though, he couldn't see things going any other way – when he closed his eyes, and tried to take a glimpse into Leia's future, or Han's, he saw undefined things, shifting, always in motion, but the one constant was that they were entwined.

* * *

Han had expected a tense confrontation when he told Leia he'd chosen to lead a scout mission to the Alderaan system. He steeled himself for it, and he even conceded that she had the right to react with a certain level of irritation at him, but he'd also half expected her to know it was something he'd do, and accept it as one of his endearing traits.

It wasn't quite like that at all, though; she'd turned white as a sheet when he told her, and then she completely lost it. He was intuitive enough to realize her anger was underscored by fear, but her reaction _nettled_ him.

Standing opposite him in the kitchen, one hand flat on the counter, the other placed ominously on her hip, Leia's eyes flashed tumultuously, and her shoulders were tense – she held herself that tensely to keep from shaking.

"You did _what_?" she repeated icily. "You didn't think – you should consult me about that?" she demanded.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and then rubbed his hands on his pants, leaning onto the counter opposite her.

"Leia – look, the other night, you were pretty clear about not being involved in the decision making – "

"Concerning whether there would be a mission at all!" she interrupted harshly. "Once the decision was made, I had a right to input – you can't _do_ things like this, Han, you can't make decisions that will affect us without consulting me!"

"It's not gonna change anything between us!" he retorted, almost rolling his eyes – why the hell did she think _they_ were threatened by his decision?

"I'm talking about _risk_ taking," Leia said, smacking her hand hard on the counter. "The whole reason it's _volunteer_ only is because it's a threatening mission! It could be suicidal – "

"It's no different than us stealing an Imperial fighter and infiltrating Endor!" Han snapped. "You want to lecture me on suicidal when the whole kriffin' Alliance was one big risk – "

"This is different!" she cried.

"Why is it different?" he demanded.

" _Because I don't have to lose you now_!" she shouted, clenching her fist. She thrust her hand away from her hip, holding it out towards him. "We're on the verge of peace! The Republic is stabilizing! We have the luxury of living for the future," she growled, "back then, when the Empire was in power, we were living for the next _hour_! It's not like that anymore!" She broke off, catching her breath. "You'd throw a fit if I casually decided to go on some dangerous mission – "

"There are uncertainties, Leia, but it's not dangerous! It's sure as hell no more of a risk than flying an X-wing into a Death Star!" he pointed out.

"You're making my point!" she returned angrily, pulling her hand to her and clutching at her own shoulder. "Those were desperate times, _violent_ times – death was a paradise compared to the oppression we were living under! Bringing down the empire was absolutely _necessary_ – this isn't! This is – this a ridiculous uncertainty, a farce, it's a haunting of some kind – " she broke off, laughing bitterly, and a bit wildly.

It still felt so surreal, so maddeningly impossible, and she couldn't understand her own reactions to things.

"Necessary? _Sith_ , Leia, it's necessary," he retorted heatedly. "I'm not going to let you spend the rest of your life wondering if you abandoned a ship full of Alderaanians – I'll be damned if you have to live with that guilt, on top of everything else!"

"So this is supposed to be _romantic_?" she asked nastily, her lips curling in a snarl. "It's all for _me_ – you showing me, the galaxy, how much you love me – "

"It's for you," he interrupted harshly. "It's _for you_ , but it's not to make myself look good, or to prove anything, it's not - don't make it sound arrogant," he barked, his face flushing. He turned the words back on her aggressively. "I don't think you doubt how I feel about you," he said dangerously, "so why would I need to prove it?"

She understood he was asking her if she doubted him, or if she was somehow, deep down, looking for him to convince her he was worth all the chaos they were going through – and her face paled again, because she hadn't meant to imply that he was just doing this for superficial reasons.

"I don't want to lose you, Han!" she burst out, her eyes flashing again. "You should have talked to me about this!"

" _That_ would have gone over well."

"It's not going over very well _now_ , is it?" she fired back, her hands shaking.

He gave her that, a frown twisting his lips.

"Leia," he said, running his hand over his face lightly. "Leia, you're not going to lose me – "

"You have no idea what you'll find when you get there!"

"I'm the most logical choice for this! I've been to that system after the destruction; I have experience navigating through those kinds of conditions," he pointed out. "If anyone can do it, I can," he said earnestly. "I'm gonna be fine."

"It's not just the wreckage," she said fiercely. "It's whatever could be – lurking, coaxing us out there, setting a trap – "

"You're so determined to think it's a trap!" he shouted. "Why the hell can't you let yourself believe this is a miracle, that it's _good_?" he paused a beat, and then shook his head. "It's like you don't _want_ your father to be alive!"

Leia looked stricken, like she'd been slapped, and he drew back – unexpectedly, he'd touched a nerve, and he set his jaw, swallowing hard as he watched the uncertainty and pain flicker through her eyes – what was she thinking, what sore spot had he latched on to? He'd seen so much of her sorrow over Alderaan, over her lost family – it wasn't possible that she didn't want –

"Leia?" he ventured.

She turned her face away from him violently, and then looked back, swiping at her eyes with her shaking hand.

"I lost the luxury of believing in miracles years ago," she said hoarsely.

"Sweetheart, _this_ is a miracle," Han said, spreading his arms out. "The Empire's gone, we're alive – you and me, together? _That's_ a miracle. If we've got to a point where we can stop living by the hour, then you can start believing good things will happen to you again," he said, coming around the counter to her.

She stepped back from him, and bowed her head, pressing fingertips into her forehead forcefully. She felt panic rising in her stomach, making her nauseous; it made her chest hurt, her head spin – she felt like she couldn't breathe. She couldn't think logically, she couldn't seem to dissect and analyze his side of the argument, because she was gripped with such an incapacitating fear that he wasn't going to come back.

That possibility – she couldn't bear to consider it. She had set her sights on a future in this new world – with him.

"It's a scout mission, Leia," he said. "It's not a battle, it's not a covert mission – I'm just takin' half the Rogue Squadron, and we're – "

"You, Luke, and Chewie run off – "

"Chewbacca and Luke are staying here," Han corrected. "I'm not leaving you alone."

Her lips moved soundlessly a moment. She didn't want to _say_ that she valued him over the others, but she _did_. How could she not? Luke was her brother, her friend, but he wasn't a part of her like Han was. Chewbacca was – noble, an irreplaceable brother-in-arms, another true friend – but he wasn't Han.

"What makes you so sure you aren't going off to your death?" she asked huskily.

"I never _think_ I'm going to die, Leia," he said, cracking a smile, trying to get one out of her. "That's why I'm still alive."

She turned her head away – she crossed her arms, clutching her elbows tightly. She should go with him – she should lead the expedition. But – her hands were somewhat tied; just like they had more freedom, more time, in this Empire-less world, she had more responsibility; ironically, without a bounty on her head, she was more valuable – before the gossip on her love life had obscured everything, they'd been calling her the Founding Princess in praise of her diplomatic efforts.

She was the head of a dying culture, a people going extinct; she couldn't go – and truth be told, if anyone could pull this off spectacularly – whether it was a hoax or a miracle – it was Han.

Leia closed her eyes tightly, turning away.

"You should have talked to me first," she said in a small voice. She pressed her fingers against her ribs, drawing in a deep breath. She felt that panic again, a selfish desire to lock Han in a room where nothing could harm him, nothing could take him away from her – and she'd always hated it when he treated her like that, when he was overprotective. "I don't want you to go, Han," she said, her words raw. "I want you to withdraw your offer."

Han ran his hands through his hair again, shaking his head.

"It's not just about you anymore, Leia," he said hoarsely. "You didn't see – the hope in their eyes, Dansra, Kell, Tyr," he listed. "They want answers. They need them. You need 'em, too, even if you think you can live without knowin'."

Volunteer missions took back seats to mandatory or necessary things; if Han backed out, it could take ages to put together a team, if only because of the sensitive nature of the mission and because resources would go to something else.

It wasn't what Leia wanted to hear. Her ears were ringing, and she felt like he'd ripped the rug out from under her – for so many different reasons. He reached out to touch her shoulder, and she twitched away from him, parting her lips. She needed to calm down. She needed to try to think logically.

"When are you leaving?" she choked out softly.

He was quiet for a beat.

"Two days," he answered finally.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and then pushed away from the counter, slipping past him. She retrieved a soft, hooded cape from the closet in the hall and pulled it on over her casual clothing, avoiding his eyes. He followed her, eventually stopping her gently as she moved towards the door.

"Don't walk out on me," he said.

"It's just a fight, Han," she said. "Just a fight."

He frowned; her lashes fluttered.

"I need some space," she said, looking up at him finally.

He stepped back, letting his hands fall off of her shoulders. He held them up passively.

"You stay here," he said. "I'll go."

She stood, rooted to the spot, and he rubbed his jaw.

"That way – look, at least that way I know you're up here, not wandering around the city for some – reporter to attack," he muttered.

She said nothing. He cleared his throat.

"I'll be on the _Falcon,"_ he said gruffly.

She was still standing in that one place when he left, the door sliding closed behind him. She looked after him a moment, her eyes glued to the door, and then she turned and leaned against the closest wall, sliding down slowly until she was sitting, her forehead pressed to the tops of her knees. She felt the whisper of something dark tug at her soul, and she opened her eyes wide, ordering it away.

Two days.

He was leaving in two days.

She tried to consider all of the things he'd said, but she was too stimulated; her head was buzzing, too overwhelmed. Instead of trying to be rational, she stood up, summoned all of her strength to compartmentalize her anxiety over Han's decision, and then dropped her mental defenses so that Luke would be able to sense her through their connection, and read how threatened she felt by the volatility of her emotions.

* * *

When Luke cautiously sought Leia out a few hours later, she had mellowed some, though she was guarded and withdrawn when she let him in. He brewed herbal tea in the kitchen while she twisted her damp hair into a simple plait that fell over her shoulder. The mugs he brought over to the living room were dark red and had chips on the edges; he recognized them suddenly as Han's – they'd been taken from the _Falcon_.

She took the mug her offered her, and fixed her eyes on his.

"You knew he was going to do this," she stated. It wasn't really an accusation, and it wasn't particularly hostile; she just inherently knew Luke had been aware of this before she herself had.

Luke sat down, sighing a little.

"To be fair, he didn't ask me beforehand," he said edgily. He didn't want Leia to think he'd conspired against her or something. "He told me when he was talking to some of the Squadron guys, because he wanted me to stay behind."

Leia said nothing, and lifted the tea to her lips, blowing carefully to cool it. She took a tentative sip, decided it was still too hot, and lowered her arms, resting the mug on her knee. She leaned back against the back of the couch.

"And _you_ think it's a good idea," Leia said, eyeing him critically.

Luke frowned.

"Well, I didn't think it was brilliant of him not to tell you about it first," he said dryly, "but," he paused, choosing his words hesitantly.

"But?"

"I think…you came down pretty hard on him. Seems like it," he said, almost apologetic. "From what I can get in sensory images."

Leia shifted slightly, and Luke smiled grimly as he felt their connection dampen immediately. She was the one who'd reached out to him, though – she was the one who'd opened it; she couldn't blame him from proactively attempting to discern the details.

"Was I supposed to fall into his arms in a swoon?" she asked sharply.

"Have you ever _swooned_ in your life?"

"Was I supposed to – declare my undying love for him?"

"Hmm," Luke muttered, raising a brow. "You've already done that."

She gave him a narrow look, and he gripped his mug tightly, taking a thoughtful sip of his tea.

"He didn't do it to impress you, Leia," Luke said, after he'd swallowed, and looked at her curiously for a moment. "He's not out for some award in machismo."

"You think?" Leia asked, almost skeptical. "He went out after you on Hoth to get in my good graces."

"Hey," Luke retorted, affronted. "Han is my friend too, you know," he snorted. "He cared if I died."

"He was supposed to leave that night," Leia said. "They forbid him to go after you."

Luke frowned at her lightly, and she lowered her eyes, sipping her tea.

"He's not like that anymore," Luke pointed out. "He doesn't have to win you over."

"This isn't his responsibility, Luke. _He_ didn't have to do this," she said earnestly.

"I think he feels like he does," Luke said simply.

" _Why_?" she growled, exasperated.

"Because, Leia!" Luke retorted. "Someone told you your father, and a bunch of other Alderaanians, might be alive out there, and it shook you up so badly you _froze_! You haven't started making contingency plans, you haven't expressed any _hope,"_ he said. "You wouldn't even sit on the Council while they made a decision, and Han knows the right thing to do is to _act_ , and you didn't give the order. So _he's_ acting."

"On an _improbability_ – who knows what he's flying into!" Leia said.

She leaned over and put her mug aside, drawing her legs up onto the couch and leaning forward.

"He can't make assumptions about how _I_ feel; he can't decide that without answers, I'd collapse beneath the uncertainty hanging over our heads. I wasn't making a silent cry for help, for him to step in. I had resolve when I told them I was recusing myself. "

"You realize this might never get done, without Han? The military won't be sent in, a volunteer mission won't take precedence – and that ship, with Bail Organa on it, could languish out there until they really are lost forever?"

Leia caught her breath, but didn't express surprise at his words; of course she knew that. She knew how intelligence, volunteer missions, and this government worked – she knew what she might be sacrificing if she removed herself, and they decided the risks were too many, and took no action. She knew what she might have to live with if a volunteer mission went too late. She _knew_ – and Luke read that understanding on her face, and he felt lost for a moment.

He thought of what he'd give for a chance to see his aunt and uncle again, to talk to them, to thank them, and apologize for things he'd done or said when he was young and restless. He swallowed hard, and furrowed his brow.

Leia could tell he didn't understand what she was telling him, and she curled up, drawing her knees closer to her chest – she made herself very small, like she was a child on Alderaan again, hiding from someone who was chasing her through the palace in a silly, innocent little game.

"You're suggesting," Luke began slowly, "that between rescuing Bail Organa and keeping Han safe, you'd choose Han? Over your adoptive father – over your people, your family?"

"It's _not_ a whole planet, Luke, it's a long shot – fifty, maybe a hundred people at best!" she burst out, pushing her palms towards him desperately. She was wounded by the disbelief in his tone, and she felt exposed and despicable. "And can you," she said, frustrated. "Bail Organa is – was – my father. _Don't_ say 'adoptive.' Don't – "

"We have the same father," Luke interrupted, stoic; so very like the Jedi he'd matured into.

"I'm not like you," Leia said heavily; coldly. "I can't forgive him. I can't look at him like that. I didn't have a heart-to-heart with him without the mask. I can't see him as anything but a monster." She turned her head away. "He stood behind me when Alderaan was destroyed." Her voice was dull. "He kept his hand on my shoulder."

Luke stayed quiet for a moment.

"You'd choose Han over your father, then?" he said, respecting her request.

"You don't understand," Leia pleaded softly.

"I'm trying to," Luke told her calmly.

She closed her eyes.

"It's like I told him," she said in a tiny voice. "I don't want him to go on this mission. Losing Alderaan – losing my world," she broke off. "That's a reality. It nearly broke me. I live with it every day. I _cope_. There's no proof that this ship, this signal, is really everything we think it is," she murmured. "But Han is _here_. Han is _tangible_. If he goes off and it's a trap, or a bloodbath...there's no Father, and I lose Han," she trailed off hoarsely.

Her voice shook.

"I lost my world," she said. "Luke," she went on hoarsely. " _Han_ is my world."

Luke put aside his mug and gently reached out to her, laying a soothing hand on her shoulder. He offered her calmness through his power in the Force, and she bowed her head demurely, accepting it.

"That's a lot of responsibility to put on him, Leia," he said gently.

"It is," she agreed quietly. "Han knows how I feel." She didn't go so far as to tell Luke that Han more or less felt the same way about her. Han's feelings were none of Luke's business, unless Han himself wanted to talk about them.

She licked her lips and reached up to take his hand, squeezing it tightly.

"This whole thing has just reawakened how I felt on some of my worst days, back when it first happened," she confessed, barely audible. "I hadn't gotten over it; I'll never get over it, but I'd stopped looking back. Luke, I've been – letting myself look forward to a future with Han."

Luke shrugged.

"You talk like he's been marked for execution or something," Luke pointed out. "I know I haven't been able to give you any definitive information, but if the Dark Side was at work here – I'd pick it up," he assured her.

Leia closed her eyes briefly, and pursed her lips.

"You can't even begin to understand how scared I am of losing him," she whispered. "I wouldn't recover."

Luke considered her intently – he wondered what it would be like, to love someone so much you couldn't survive losing them, when you'd already survived so many other horrors. But then – he understood implicitly that losing Han wouldn't just kill her because she was devastated, it would take away all the effort she'd put into healing, surviving, finding solace and happiness again.

"You'd found an equilibrium," Luke said thoughtfully. "This has just disrupted everything you'd come to terms with, hasn't it?"

"That's it," she agreed, her lips trembling. "It feels like everything I'd rebuilt has been scrambled and eroded, and I can't get a handle on the facts of my world anymore. I was living in the New Republic, in this future with Han, the resignation of knowing we may never have answers about our past," she swallowed, her voice catching, "now it's as if I exist in purgatory - afraid of what it will mean to have my father back, afraid of being crushed if there's nothing to this, afraid – "

"Of losing Han," he finished, nodding.

She squeezed his hand again, and put her other hand to her forehead, pushing back loose, wispy strands of hair.

"You'd be able to find peace more easily through meditation," Luke began cautiously. "I could teach you – "

"Luke," she interrupted. "You, of all people, know why I don't want anything to do with that power. You can feel it."

Luke gave her a grim smile.

"You're not a Sith because you get a little angry, sis," he told her bluntly.

"The way I am?" Leia said, her tone hushed. "The levels of stress I deal with – anxiety, guilt, anger, nightmares," she said. "It's a recipe for disaster if I tap into my sensitivity. I feel that black hole whispering to me on the days when I wish I couldn't feel anything anymore. I used to revere the Jedi. But I grew up under the Sith," she murmured. "And you tell me I'm descended from one of them?"

She swallowed, shaking her head fiercely.

"You can thank your father for everything he did to me, and let his disciples to do me, that makes me mentally incompatible with the Force."

Luke's expression was forlorn, deeply pained.

"You're _good_ , Leia. You're a beacon for all things good. The Force isn't about fate; it's about choice," he hesitated, lifting his shoulders in a resigned shrug. "I hope one day I can show you that."

How could she so lack confidence in her own good nature like this? She, who really had been through so much - through enough to twist anyone else into a vengeful soldier filled with nothing but spite and darkness. Yet she remained honorable enough to work so that decisions were made fairly; she saw to it that all systems were welcome in the New Republic, that the worst of Imperial scum received appropriate trials in the Tribunals.

"You know," she said hoarsely, "it would almost be easier to forgive Vader if it _was_ fate. That would have meant he didn't have a choice."

Luke had no comment on that; she was right, in a way – and Luke, he didn't have the history with Vader that she did, not really. They had faced each other, but their interactions had always been different. Leia had grown up in the Imperial courts, surrounded by injustice, held hostage by Vader, and had her autonomy stolen by his ruthless tactics.

On a whim, Luke leaned forward and gave her a quick hug, pulling back to reclaim his abandoned mug of tea. She reached for hers, and she rubbed lightly at her cheeks, looking away from him for a moment, lost in thought.

"It's a scouting mission," she said to herself. She shook her head imperceptibly. "I overreacted," she said, and then turned her eyes to his. "You understand, though," she implored. "I can't shake the thought that it isn't just a wondrous miracle, it's something conspiring to snatch any happiness I might have away right as I try to seize it."

Luke nodded, his brow furrowing thickly – he wished he could make her feel less like she somehow didn't deserve to be happy, but he knew that had a lot more to do with guilt than he could relate to. Carrying the weight of a dying world on her shoulders wasn't easy, and he wouldn't diminish that by offering generic platitudes.

"For what it's worth," Luke said, "whether or not Han finds a hundred Alderaanians, a malfunctioning ship, or a carefully laid trap – he's going to come back."

Leia's lips twitched.

"You're so sure?"

"Yeah," Luke said dryly, his blue eyes glinting suddenly. "He's not going to let Threkin Horm think he's succeeded in ending your affair."

Leia laughed shakily, and then compressed her lips, settling her mouth into a soft smile.

"And if you're so convinced he's not going to make it, he's got to prove you wrong," Luke added with a shrug. "Let you win an argument? That's not in his nature."

Again, she laughed.

"I win arguments all the time," she told him, arching an eyebrow.

"With logic?" Luke snorted. "Or by banishing him to the _Falcon_?"

Leia's mouth fell open slightly.

"Hey, I – he left on his own; I didn't banish him," she protested. She paused. "This time," she added under her breath.

Luke grinned at her, and she smiled back – she felt better; she felt more level-headed, and she didn't feel like she was about to be consumed in disarray and darkness. The uncertainty that would come with Han's impending absence would no doubt pull her mood in five different directions in the upcoming days, but at least she'd been able to put things into perspective.

Han was a general; in his career, he could die at any time – less likely these days, sure, and of course it gave her more worry when he took on a risk that wasn't necessarily mandatory, but Han was good at his job – he had a knack for surviving the impossible. Her fear of losing him was _real_ , but more than anything, deep down, she was daunted by the magnificent shift this could mean for her life – their life – just when they'd begun to live it.

"Your father," Luke started. "Will he have answers, about us? Our origins?" he ventured.

Leia swallowed hard.

"I don't know," she said. She clenched her teeth a moment. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk in certainties until Han says there's a ship there – until this is real."

"I understand," Luke agreed quickly – she didn't want to decide Bail Organa was alive and then be crushed again; she didn't want to abandon hope, either.

They were both silent a moment, and then Luke cleared his throat.

"Well," he began, taking a deep breath. "You can't part with Han on bad terms," he advised.

"No," she agreed softly.

"Can you imagine the uproar?" Luke joked. "The holonet is wild enough over a romance; they'd go berserk over a break-up. It'd be more of a circus than the Boonta Eve Classic."

She looked at him curiously.

"The…what?" she asked faintly.

"Uhh…big pod race, on Tatooine," he explained, flushing. "Big for the Outer Rim, anyway…never mind," he said hastily, looking sheepish.

She smiled at him fondly – the Jedi savior of the Galaxy, and at heart, he was always going to be an overly polite, adventurous farm boy.

"It wasn't even close to a break-up fight," she said gently. "Han and I fight all the time."

"Have you two ever had a fight that almost ended it?"

"That's none of your business," she said, quite simply. She tilted her head. "You know, Han and I resisted each other spectacularly. Our nastiest fights may have been before we even…gave in."

Luke stood, grinning at her almost stupidly,

"You're blind, Leia," he said, laughing a little.

She looked taken aback.

"I'm - ?"

"Han didn't resist a damn thing. He followed you around like a lovesick kath hound and got increasingly more hysterical when you didn't respond," Luke mocked. "Chewbacca was ready to _kill_ him by the time we left Hoth."

Flushing, Leia folded her arms.

"He wasn't so sure of himself when he got me," she fired back. "You missed quite a bit, thanks to your Dagobah detour."

Out of respect for him, she didn't reveal that Han had an incredibly _panicked_ reaction to her deciding to give into him, and had backed off for days before they'd sorted everything out and sealed their fates on Bespin. Come to think of it, though – Chewie had seemed pretty homicidal towards Han on that trip, too.

"Well, however you look at it," Luke said smugly. "I hope you two don't ever have a fight bad enough to end it," he told her thoughtfully.

"If you'd leave," Leia said archly, lifting her eyebrow, "I could comm him to tell him I'd like to make up."

Luke nodded quickly, abandoning his half-empty tea, and straightening his Jedi robes – the sooner they did that, the better, because Han had a mission to prepare for, and neither of them needed to be in a combative state of mind while planning went forward.

Leia got up to see her brother out, squeezing his shoulder gratefully as she said goodnight, and when he was gone, she carefully cleaned up the two tea mugs, taking a few more minutes to convince herself Luke was right, that she was being too fatalistic, before she picked up her comlink to call Han.

* * *

The hanger Han and his team were scheduled to leave out of was a secluded, infrequently used one – all the better; there would be more privacy. Not that the media would be buzzing around anyway; it was so late at night, even the most fervent Han-and-Leia-watchers assumed they were both in for the night.

Rieekan and Dodonna had decided it was best that Han leave the planet without it being common knowledge. That way, there would be no media speculation about what was going on. It was best, the generals decided, to keep everything under wraps, and Leia was more than happy to go alone with that.

They were here to see the team off, as well as Luke, Chewbacca, and Mon Mothma. Dansra Beezer was standing near the scout ship with Wedge Antilles and Gavin Darklighter, the two pilots Han had poached from the Rogue squadron. The Council was reluctant to let any Alderaanians take on the mission, but Dansra had refused to be cowed, and she'd finally been authorized at the last minute. Leia almost looked at Dansra as her proxy.

Han stood in front of her, his thumbs hooked into his trouser pockets.

"That's a new ship, you know," she remarked. "Up to date model; reliable operating system," she noted. "You sure you can fly something that actually works?"

"Forget politics; you should be a comedian," Han retorted, glaring at her lightly.

She compressed her lips and glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the scout ship – big enough to hold a crew of seven, fitted with heavy enough weaponry – it was a good scout ship, and it was fast. It was built first and foremost to escape dangerous situations, of which she was glad.

"I can't believe you aren't taking the _Falcon,"_ she murmured, her eyes distant for a moment.

Han shrugged – he ignored the shiver in his spine about it; he had the nagging feeling he'd be better off flying his beloved ship, too. He saw why it was inadvisable, though, particularly since the mission was supposed to be under the radar, and they didn't want the whole galaxy figuring out Han Solo was off-planet.

They probably would, but as long as they could delay –

"Dodonna's right; it's too recognizable," he said, shrugging again, to convince himself. "I trust you with it."

"I'm going to sell it and buy some new shoes," Leia quipped, deadpan.

"Good luck, Princess, I think the profit might get you a pair of socks," he snorted.

Leia smiled a little.

"I wish you'd take Chewbacca," she said softly.

Perking his ears up and looking over, Chewbacca roared his agreement. Leia saw Dansra and Gavin jump about a mile at the echoing howl, and she looked gratefully at the Wookiee – Chewie was torn between ignoring Han's orders and following him as his life debt required, and obeying the request that he stay here for Leia's sake.

Before he could say anything, Rieekan approached, handing over a file and nodding at the ship.

"Dansra will know the routes to Alderaan by heart, of course," he said. "There's different options concerning how you can enter the system in case space is unstable," he said gruffly. "You know your most direct route will get you there in about – "

"Ten days," Leia said automatically. "Obviously much faster if you push hyperspace."

" _Don't_ do that," Rieekan advised tensely. "Not with the condition that graveyard is in."

"I got it covered, General," Han said, taking the file. He opened it, and glanced through it. He'd been ordered to drop out of hyperspace well before Alderaan, and make the approach at regular speed. An idea he generally agreed with, since he'd unwittingly jumped out of hyperspace into the wreckage several years ago, and it hadn't been pretty. "I've flown into it before, remember – what's the rest of this?" he added.

"Biographic and biological information on some high ranking officials and other Alderaanians that might be flying on a ship of that prestige," Rieekan said. "Mon Mothma and Princess Leia helped prepped the more personal interrogatory questions, but bioscans will be easy to verify."

Han arched his eyebrows.

"In case anyone is claiming they're someone they're not," Leia said quietly.

Han closed the file – he'd read it later, on the trip to the planet – or where the planet had once been.

General Dodonna approached, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I trust you have all the information you'll require?" he asked.

Han nodded simply, his jaw hardening just slightly.

"We'll have assistance on call if you need it," Dodonna said. "Your emergency line will go directly to both Rieekan and the Chief of State – we'll have back-up, medical, things that might be necessary if you find something," he listed.

"But if it's a trap, I assume the risk," Han recited – it had all been discussed in the meeting just before this. "I think it's best if I get this show on the road," he said.

Dodonna nodded, extending his hand. Han shook it, and then shook Rieekan's as well.

"Good luck, Solo," Dodonna said seriously. "I hope something good comes of this."

Han couldn't resist.

"Well," he remarked, deadpan, "I do seem to get lucky rescuing Alderaanians."

Dodonna stared at him, taken aback, and Rieekan, suppressing a smirk, nudged his old friend away, giving Leia a meaningful look that suggested she get her goodbye out of the way. Leia moved slightly, and Han took her arm, nodding his head towards a shadowy area of the hanger – no privacy, really, but at least more secluded.

He put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her towards him.

"I would've been fine with just you seeing me off," he said quietly.

She put her hands on his chest.

"Surely you aren't ashamed of me, Captain?" she asked innocently.

He grinned, and she gave him a soft smile, taking a deep breath. She moved her hands up to his shoulders, finally resting them on his neck.

"Be careful, Han," she pleaded softly.

"You know I'm coming back, Leia," he said seriously. "I can't just leave the _Falcon_."

She dug her nail into his flesh, giving him a look, and he smirked, squeezing her shoulders.

"I'll come back, I'll bring them back," he jerked his head at Dansra and the others, "and anyone else we pick up."

She swallowed hard.

"I want you to promise me something," she said in such a hushed voice, he had to turn his head and angle his ear towards her mouth to hear. "If you get there and it's a trap," she whispered, "or if – it looks like it would put your life on the line to stay and investigate – don't. Come back to me."

He was still for a moment, and then he turned his head again, and met her eyes.

"Leia," he said huskily. "I can't – "

"Promise me, Han."

"You mean abandon them if it comes down to me or them?" he asked. "You think I can do that to you, have you resent me like that?"

"I already live in a world where I've lost my father, and my planet," she reiterated. " _Come back to me_. Promise me."

He swallowed hard, and after studying her unreadable face for a long time, he nodded once – and he didn't mention that if he tried to do something like that, he'd most likely face mutiny at Dansra's hands – and while he'd keep his promise, and abandon hope if there was no sign of life, he wouldn't turn his back on her people if he found them.

Leia slid her fingers into his hair and rose up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his. He moved his hands from her shoulders to her waist, pulling her tightly against him and returning the kiss. He kissed her until he couldn't breathe and when she pulled back, and gasped softly for air, he kissed her again, reassuring her with that kiss, putting his soul into it. She kissed him like she'd kissed him on Bespin all those years ago, and when he got back, she'd kiss him like she had in Jabba's palace.

He pulled back, thought better of it, kissed her again – and breaking way for a final time, he rested his forehead on hers a moment, and then flicked his eyes warily towards the others. Leia, her eyes closed lightly, pressed her nose against his cheek, breathing heavily.

"Damn," she swore. "Ooh, the holoreporters would have killed to witness that one," she said shakily.

He grinned, pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. He moved his lips to her ear, and she stroked his jaw and preempted his inevitable.

"I know, Han, I know," she murmured.

He nodded, and gave her a wink. She gave him one last tight, clingy hug, and then she let him go, turning and hurrying back to Luke and the others as he strolled towards the scout ship. Chewbacca slipped his arm around her shoulders and roared a farewell. Leia rested her hand over his paw and glanced at Luke; Luke smiled at her wryly.

She felt Mon Mothma and General Dodonna's eyes boring into the back of her head; she was sure they must have watched her and Han like hawks. She set her shoulders back a little more firmly, unabashed, and proud – she hoped they'd enjoyed the show; she wasn't about to let Han go off into a great unpredictable horizon without so much as a kiss.

He could _use_ a good kiss.

* * *

 _i think it took Han/Luke/Ben a couple of hours to get to Alderaan via hyperspace from Tatooine (in ANH)? anyway, it's no doubt a shorter distance from Coruscant to Alderaan since Alderaan was a core world but...let's just suspend some reality for some added drama, eh? :)_

 _-Alexandra_


	7. Six

**a/n:** _you guys are just ... so nice in your reviews. so nice. really, so NICE. so i have to give you more._

* * *

 ** _Six_**

* * *

In her ample office on the top floor of the Imperial – no, now _Republic_ – Senate building, Mon Mothma watched the live broadcast of an informal press conference with a pinched expression, her teeth clenched together behind closed lips. At various places around the room, others focused on the same screen as her – occasionally, Threkin Horm would make a quiet noise of annoyance.

"This has gotten _quite_ out of hand," Mon Mothma said finally, a graceful sort of edge to her voice.

The holo screen in her office was huge, and the volume was left on low, with subtitles and translations running across the bottom of the screen to aid with keeping up. Seated in the center of a panel that included two representatives from Nemoidia, Senator Pooja Naberrie from Naboo as well as their most recently elected Monarch's, Queen Soruna, and two members of the Banking Clan, Princess Leia was conducting what was supposed to be a question and answer session on the impending singing of a truce treaty between the three entities. The treaty was set to greatly improve trade within the burgeoning New Republic, as it would – hopefully – resolve some long-held grievances amongst the concerned parties.

Of course, there was very little Princess Leia could get done when for every question she received on political logistics, there was one that pertained to her personal life.

She was currently finishing up a statement -

"… _so perhaps a precedent can be set in which we stop holding current generations responsible for the actions, however reprehensible, of their forebears, in the effort to constantly progress rather than bog ourselves down in historic slights."_

\- and the moment she finished, a reporter leapt for the jugular, thrusting a microphone forward.

" _Your Highness, we haven't spotted Han Solo by your side in several days – trouble in paradise?"_

On screen, Leia's lips tightened and she turned her head pointedly to another reporter, listening for someone who had a question about the treaty. In the office, both General Dodonna and Threkin Horm voiced their opinions:

"How are these unruly gossip rats getting vetted to be at events like this?" Dodonna growled, while Horm's displeasure was of a different vein:

"Of course it's gotten out of hand – she does nothing to dissuade them!" he nearly howled. He thrust a thick hand out towards the screen. "It's as if she enjoys the attention! Her silence is only provoking the fervor."

General Rieekan shot a disbelieving look at Horm.

"She's not _provoking_ them," he said. "She's behaving like any sane politician would – ignoring them!"

"She could at least give a short word to fend them off – "

"Would you have her _answer_ them, Threkin?" Rieekan asked, with a sarcastic little smile. "Tell them – why, yes, Han Solo has been told to stay away, because he leaves his socks on the floor, and it's really very maddening, now please, back to the treaty," he went on, mimicking a female voice. He scoffed. "It doesn't matter if she's silent or divulges everything: _they'll want more_."

He fell silent, and noticed they were all looking at him with varying levels of – well, either amusement, or surprise, or both.

"What?" he demanded grumpily.

"Your Princess impression needs work," Dodonna said, deadpan. He shook his head slightly, perhaps hiding a small smile, and sighed. "Threkin, a small word from her is what got us into this mess," he reminded the man darkly, thinking back to Leia's glib pronouncement at the Hapan diplomatic gala.

"I'm afraid that was my fault," Mon Mothma said. "I backed her into a corner – I evidently underestimated what I thought was Princess Leia's youthful crush on General Solo."

Rieekan gave a loud snort.

"It was not your fault that Princess Leia chose to make a reckless proclamation," Dodonna said shortly. "She's got more political poise in her finger than the rest of us have in our entire bodies; she did it deliberately."

"To get the government out of her bedroom, Jan," Rieekan said shortly.

"I object to that – "

"There were at least six marriage proposals in diplomatic documents," snapped Rieekan. "Even if Solo wasn't a factor, throwing things like that at her wasn't fair."

"She's the reigning member of the royal family, Carlist, and a damn useful one at that!" Threkin broke in tersely. "She could have made any number of spectacular alliances – you know as well as I do what her duty is to Alderaan – "

"Things are different now," Rieekan said harshly, turning cold eyes on his fellow Alderaanian. "Alderaan no longer exists. I would think that our duty as _Alderaanians_ ," he said pointedly, "is to see to it that our Princess, who sacrificed everything but her life for this Republic, is treated like a human rather than a bargaining chip."

Horm closed his mouth with a sharp snap, a scowl taking up residence on his silent face.

Mon Mothma raised her hands at them, shaking her head a little.

"I think Princess Leia did what she felt she had to," she remarked.

"Rashly," stated Dodonna. "I forget how young she is, sometimes – but declaring up that she's having an affair with a mercenary pilot – "

"A commissioned general of this government," Mon Mothma corrected fairly.

"—was a clear indication of her youth, probably coming out because she's had to be an adult for so long. I wonder if we're about to witness a downward spiral, and whether it's wise to keep her in an Ambassadorship."

"I'll thank you to watch your tongue, Jan," Rieekan snapped dangerously. His eyes were cold, turned unforgivingly on his friend. "If anything would crack Leia Organa, it's the disrespect of people she considered her equals and friends."

Dodonna coloured considerably, casting his eyes down. Rieekan watched him swallow somewhat guiltily, and then turned pointedly towards the Chief of State, folding his arms. He sat back in his seat stiffly, triumphant in the silence that fell.

The holonet droned on –

" _Yes,"_ Senator Naberrie remarked. _"We've agreed to the terms – providing, of course, the Federation follows through with its promise to allow two of our economic advisors on its panel."_

" _Which is a fair term,"_ Leia jumped on, her hand resting calmingly on the shoulder of a Nemoidian next to her. _"In a trade off, the media on Naboo has offered to cease its increasingly demonic portrayal of Cato Nemoidia."_

There were some scattered chuckles at Leia's straight-faced remark. One of the Nemoidians answered a question, then deferred a monetary question to one of the Banking Clan; a moment later, a short, attractive blonde reporter's recorder lit up, and she fixed a wicked glance on the Princess.

" _Princess, is General Solo off planet? Is he cracking under the pressure of being outshined by you?"_

This time, Leia spared a quick glance for the question.

" _This conversation is about trade treaties, Ms. Lufthata,"_ she said crisply, noting the reporter's name. _"Adjust your questions accordingly."_

Rieekan laughed.

" _Princess, Princess Leia! Why don't you ever want to talk about Han Solo?"_

" _Are you ashamed of slumming, Princess?"_

Rieekan's smile faded immediately.

"Oh," Mon Mothma sighed, putting her hands to her forehead. "Wonderful," she murmured, and perhaps even swore uncharacteristically – but it was done so quietly, no one could be sure.

"What?" Threkin asked, somewhat lamely, looking between them all – Dodonna looked considerably alarmed.

Leia had fixed a frozen look on whoever had asked the last question.

" _Pardon me?"_ she asked with feigned politeness.

The being, a particularly seedy looking reporter, grinned slyly.

" _I wondered if you're embarrassed to be debasing yourself with the kind of smuggler scum Solo was known to be – he was kicked out of the Aademy – "_

" _The Rebellion that brought you this free and equal government was comprised of scoundrels, outcasts, and outlaws, Sir,"_ she interrupted icily. _"It's due to the action of an unlikely band of rule-breakers that you have had the right to free speech restored to you – however low and unintelligent that speech may be."_

Threkin nearly choked on his tongue.

"Has she lost her mind?" he hissed.

Rieekan held up his hand.

" _I doubt there are many beings here who fault General Solo for being so incompatible with the ruthless, oppressive agenda of the Imperial Academy that he was ejected from,"_ she continued, _"and as a citizen of a Republic that hopes to eradicate the suffocating culture of elitism the Empire let flourish, I will not have it said that recognizing General Solo as a partner is debasement."_

Camera flashes exploded, and several voices started shouting for Leia to confirm this, deny that, etc. – the envoy from Naboo shot Leia a look that was somewhere between miserable and overwhelmed, and Leia stood up, holding her hands for silence.

" _My presence here is not conducive to the point,"_ she said shortly. She inclined her head at the Queen of Naboo. _"I'll turn my place of neutrality to Queen Soruna's envoy."_

Mon Mothma watched as took an unprecedented exit from her post at the conference, and grit her teeth together – of all the questions they could have asked, someone picked the single one that would test Leia's self-control. She'd remain stoic through many a squirm-worthy personal interrogation, but question Han Solo's suitability and – as Mon knew from personal experience – she got a mouth on her faster than Solo could make the Kessel run.

Threkin spluttered.

"She can't just walk out of a negotiation – "

"It's a press conference," Dodonna said dully. He hesitated a moment. "I'm not sure I blame her."

Rieekan made a noise of agreement, and Mon Mothma sat back in her chair.

"Too far," she murmured to herself, and then looked about the room. "Something has to be done about this," she said tiredly.

"I second that," Threkin groused. "Regardless of how serious Her Highness thinks she is about General Solo, there must be a way to hasten the inevitable end – "

"That is not what I meant, Councilor Horm," Mon Mothma interrupted shortly. She gave him a warning look. "I mean we cannot have our political messages, or Princess Leia, held hostage to the press's invasive interest in these shallow, personal interest stories."

"Putting a stop to this involvement with Solo would fix that," Horm said pointedly. "I doubt it would take much digging into Solo's past to produce some unsavory detail that would cure Her Highness's fixation – "

"Threkin," Dodonna broke in, arching his eyebrows. "You're going a bit too far yourself."

"I'm thinkin of the greater good here! It's more than a matter of press interest – that will fade, the longer they're in the public eye, but is Solo someone we really want at her side if she holds more powerful positions in the future?"

"You want to sit around a campfire and plot an illicit plan to break up Han and Leia?" Rieekan asked sarcastically.

"I wouldn't quite put it that way, Carlist," growled Horm.

"How would you put it?"

"Gentlemen," Mon Mothma said harshly. "Calm yourselves – Councilor Horm, re-think your words," she said, eyeing him slightly distastefully.

"You said it yourself, Madam Chief; she's got to come to her senses soon and realize how unlikely this is – "

"Regardless of my personal outlook," Mon Mothma said, raising her voice, interrupting again. "I will not engage in a course of action that deliberately hurts Princess Leia," she told him firmly. "I have a great deal of respect and love for her. I trust her to control her own life." She paused, and glanced at the two generals in the room. "I believe Jan agrees with me," she said, "and I know Carlist does."

Rieekan gave a pointed nod, and Jan gave a tight one – he wasn't as enthusiastic, but like Mon Mothma, he did care for Princess Leia's well-being, and he was not a cruel man. A traditional one, with easily rattled sensibilities and perhaps a damaging amount of respect for the old stratified social order, but not a cruel one.

"I would rather focus my attention on determining how we can deflect media attention off of them," she sighed.

For what it was worth, Mon Mothma was feeling guilty of late for the way she'd presumed Leia was amenable to an arranged marriage – and for her poor reaction to the notion of Leia having made a select few decisions that were personal and passionate, rather than collected and strategic. She may be reeling from finding out the relationship between Leia and Han was more than a rumor, more than platonic, and definitely more than serious, but as she tried to wrap her head around it, she didn't want to drive Leia away or hurt her. Princess Leia was an invaluable mind and an asset to them all; beyond that, she was a revolutionary who had given more than her share to the cause, and she deserved some spoils of war for it.

If she chose Han Solo as her prize, then so be it.

"Well," Rieekan said flatly, "if Han returns with surviving Alderaanians, that's going to draw a lot of media." He paused a moment. "Unfortunately, it keeps Leia in the spotlight."

Mon Mothma was thoughtful a moment. She turned to Dodonna.

"Jan, I think it might be best if we find a project for her that isn't so public," she began. "Use her intelligence and insight in a different way. She might be relieved to get out from under scrutiny for a while, and we could wean the public off their salacious interests."

Dodonna nodded thoughtfully.

"There are still millions of political records that need to be reconstructed and analyzed," he grunted. "Things from the Old Republic, things the Imperials redacted about their own practices," he listed. "She could be extremely useful at the War Crimes trials, too. She's got no legal background, but most of those are high-profile, and closed to all but the most respected and venerated of the press, so she won't be bothered."

"Carlist?" Mon Mothma asked.

He hesitated.

"Not bad ideas," he remarked, hesitantly.

"But?" Horm prompted.

"But," Carlist repeated, oscillating within himself for a moment. He rubbed his jaw. "I don't know if we want Princess Leia holed up in closed court proceedings about torture for hours at a time," he said finally, his voice dry. Before anyone could say anything, he cleared his throat. "Not if you're worried about that, er, downward spiral."

"Hmm," Dodonna mumbled heavily. "That's – ah, _Sith_ ," he swore tightly. He figured Rieekan was right – they'd all been present on Yavin in the aftermath of the Death Star; the kind of treatment Princess Leia had received at the hands of the Empire was the sort that left lasting scars deep beneath the skin, imbedded on the psyche.

"Well, we'll run some options by her," Mon Mothma said carefully. "I'll consult with her about where her head is on the subject."

"As long as we're doing something to keep this downplayed," Threkin griped suddenly. "I'm sick of having to hear about her involvement with the bastard," he muttered.

He was duly ignored by his peers – even Dodonna, whom he'd thought to be the most on his side, when it came to derision of Han Solo.

"And we might need to call the Nemoidians and the Naboo to a second meeting, just to ensure they know we aren't making fun of them, or making light of the situation," Mon Mothma said dryly. "Shouldn't be a problem for the Naboo - I believe Princess Leia was rather good friends with Pooja Naberrie in the Imperial Senate. The Nemoidians, however, need to be coddled."

"Good idea," Dodonna remarked mildly. "Those Nemoidians can get – jumpy."

Rieekan snorted.

"Diplomatic way of putting it," he muttered. He considered Mon Mothma for a moment. "You know, you might also advise the Princess to devote the majority of her time to the Alderaanian Council," he suggested. "For the time being. There's plenty that could be handled there – and Skywalker is interested in her assisting with his re-establishment of the Jedi order."

"She's not going to do that," Mon Mothma said flatly.

Dodonna looked surprised.

"She's told us of her familial relationship to Luke, and if she's Force sensitive, it's something she'd be interested in. Bail Organa revered the Jedi. He fought with them."

"Princess Leia has no intention of revealing her connection to Luke publicly," Mon Mothma retorted in that same flat, decisive tone. "She won't associate with the Skywalker name. Not now; perhaps not ever."

Her three companions looked at her curiously, and Mon Mothma gave a small shrug – she alone among them knew the reason behind Luke and Leia's separation all those years ago; she knew Anakin Skywalker had been their father, and she, unlike most of the world, knew Anakin Skywalker's ultimate fate. The emergence of Darth Vader had been mythical, mysterious; suddenly, the dark figure at the emperor's side was unquestionable, but for those who had worked closely with Obi-wan Kenobi and Padme Amidala in the early days of disaster, things were clearer.

When Leia confessed after the Battle of Endor that Luke was her brother, Mon Mothma had been forced to confirm it, and to then pry for what else Luke had revealed. Leia had mentioned Vader only when she was sure Mon Mothma already knew. Hearing Mon Mothma agree that Anakin Skywalker had been her father, and had indeed become Darth Vader, had nearly destroyed Leia, and Mon Mothma was quite sure that the Princess would endure her life with Captain Solo being made into a reality holo-show rather than connect herself with the Jedi and the Force – with _anything_ that might reveal her background to the public.

For now, at least. For now, while the whole Galaxy, due to the Empire's meticulous re-writing of history and destruction of records, knew nearly nothing of the connection of Anakin to Vader – knew nearly nothing of Anakin at all. Rieekan, Dodonna, and especially Thorm, had no business currently knowing about that – especially not when the latter two of them couldn't even handle her relationship with Solo. And Solo, to Mon Mothma's knowledge, had never had a twenty-year long homicidal episode that resulted in galactic enslavement.

"Keep Leia in the political and social arena," Mon Mothma said with finality. "Leave the new Jedi Order to Luke. He's the right sort of man to go about that. He's – "

 _How his father could have been,_ she'd been about to say. She stopped herself, simply closing her mouth instead. Luke Skywalker's honor spoke for him; there was no need for her to go on, or to go about putting her foot in her mouth. She often tried not to dwell on the past – and she did have a deep aversion to thinking of Leia as a Skywalker.

After all, Skywalkers in love were dangerous things.

"I don't think she was wrong for walking out like that," Rieekan said finally, his jaw set stubbornly. "The woman can only remain stoic for so long."

"Let's hope she gets used to the issue soon," Dodonna sighed tiredly. "We do need her, politically, and I hope they don't wear her down. This isn't the kind of media attention she got when she was a Senator," he remembered.

Rieekan nodded – he remembered, too; Leia had been the darling of the media back then, no matter how much the Empire tried to besmirch and threaten her. This circus though – it was all lust, a sort of macabre interest in anything but her politics.

Unexpectedly, Threkin Horm spoke up:

"They won't wear her down," he said, flicking his eyes at the ongoing press conference, where the Naboo were still talking. "You're all talking like she can be broken somehow. Have you _met_ her?" he added sarcastically.

Though Horm said it because, deep down, he was still scowling over her relationship with Solo, and her refusal to deny it or cease it, it was high praise coming from him, with his stuffy opinions on how royalty should look and act. Mon Mothma nodded, wholly agreeing, and Dodonna smiled a little.

"It's even good that they think she's kicked him off planet, or is fighting with him," Rieekan snorted, attempting to lighten the air. "It at least means the press hasn't gotten ahold of the Alderaanian intelligence."

"And on that note," Mon Mothma said swiftly, "we can move from discussing the media's obsession with Leia, to an assessment of how to address Viceroy Organa's return if it occurs – Threkin, can you comm Tyr Taskeen and tell him I'm ready for his report on Solo's trajectory…"

She shifted subjects quickly, settling Leia's personal life somewhere in the back of her mind, and focused on the brief that told her Han Solo was en route safely, and no indications of foul play were popping up yet – a good thing, though it brooked a daunting prospect, and it was another thing that, in time, might just be more for the Princess to bear on her very strained shoulders.

* * *

Slightly disheveled and definitely in need of a shower, Luke Skywalker was grumpy as he ducked into the hanger that housed the _Millennium Falcon._ He had been looking for Leia for what felt like hours – though it was probably only half an hour, he was just so tired – when he finally figured she might be down on the ship. He'd thought it was too early in the morning for her to be up and about, and it was a weekend, so he thought she'd be sleeping in. He'd been wrong on both counts, but then he hadn't been able to find her doing work, either.

If he didn't find her here, he'd decided he was going to go tell someone she'd been kidnapped, because he had no clue where else on the whole of Coruscant Princess Leia would hang out.

"Chewbacca?" he called, stifling a yawn and rapping his knuckles on the ship as he stood at the ramp. "Chewie?"

He heard a muffled growl, and strode aboard, looking around. He checked the cockpit, and then went through the main hold. He kept looking until he found Chewbacca peering out of a gun turret – he looked extremely uncomfortable, and impossibly too big for the space, and he had tools in his paws.

 _[Morning, Luke.]_ He greeted pleasantly.

"Morning. Repairs?" Luke asked, arching a brow.

 _[Modifications,]_ Chewie grunted _. [New weapon configuration.]_

"What kind?"

 _[Err…do you want deniability?]_

Luke laughed _._ Of course Chewie was up to something slightly less than legal with the modifications – old habits died very hard. He didn't press, and decided he'd rib Han about it later, maybe threaten to tell Leia if he wanted a little friendly game of blackmail. Han responded really well to blackmail, even over extremely silly things. It probably came from years of living just under the law, and not ever wanting to get caught unawares.

"I was, uh, kind of wondering if you know where Leia is? I know Han ordered you to watch over her," Luke said.

 _[Yes,]_ Chewbacca growled mildly. He gestured, tilting his head. _[She's in the cabin.]_

He said it so simply, as if it were obvious. His dark brows wriggled, and he looked at Luke curiously, rumbling something softly. Luke frowned.

"What do you mean, I should have known?" he asked.

 _[She's been sleeping here since he left; you hadn't noticed?]_

"I've been at the ruins of the Jedi temple for three days," Luke muttered – he'd had lunch with Leia twice, but he hadn't been over to her place at night. Coruscant was quieter at night, and he mediated better in the dark – which is why he'd been holed up there for a while. He frowned again. "Is she asleep now?"

 _[No, she's awake,]_ Chewbacca answered. He paused _. [Just knock first. She might…not…be wearing…clothes.]_

Amused, Luke raised his eyebrows.

"You telling me from personal experience?" he snorted.

Chewbacca growled something, snuffled at Luke dryly, and then popped back down into the turret, rumbling a few annoyed words as an afterthought. Luke grinned, shaking his head as he turned. He made his way to the crew quarters and stopped outside the cabin door, peering at it. It wasn't completely shut – but he knocked anyway.

He heard a muffled voice tell him it was okay to come in.

"I'm really not mad at you, Chewbacca," she started saying, as he pushed the door open. "I should have locked – oh, Luke," she broke off.

He left the door half-open as he strode in. Leia was clearly not up and about for the day – in fact, she was laying amongst the sheets on Han's bed, surrounded by pillows, a loose white v-neck shirt hanging on her. She sat up a little when he walked in, and he noticed her cheeks flush.

"Never mind what I was saying," she said lightly.

"Chewie already told me."

She rolled her eyes and dropped back down on the bed, shifting onto her back. She looked up at the ceiling and drew one knee up, running her hand over it edgily – well; she'd put clothing on _after_ Chewie walked in. One of Han's older shirts, and a pair of shorts she'd left here from some trip that had occurred after Bespin.

After a moment, she sat up, pushing her tangled hair back. She didn't make a move to get off the bed, but she rubbed her eyes a moment to force herself to be more alert, and then looked at Luke somewhat grimly.

"Does someone need me for something?" she asked warily.

Luke shrugged.

"No," he said. "I thought you'd be up – I thought we might get breakfast."

Leia blinked at him.

"Why do you look like you've slept in a dumpster?" she asked bluntly.

Affronted, Luke glanced down at his wrinkled robes, and reached up to touch his distinctly mussed hair. He scowled, and folded his arms self-consciously.

"It's not that bad," he groused. "I've been – I was at the old Temple, meditating. Searching through records. Everything is so fried…" he muttered.

"I don't know why you keep trying," Leia sighed. "Surely there are records of the Jedi elsewhere – "

"Not that I know of," he said grimly. "Nothing so extensive as what I would find there," he added. He looked around, spotted the chair over by Han's desk, and yanked it forward, turning it and sitting down on it backwards, so he could lean forward and rest his arms on the high back. "And there is some interesting stuff. There are old runes in some of the ruins. I just have to figure them out."

"Hmm," Leia murmured, a noise that could only be called noncommittal.

Luke rested his chin on his wrists.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

Leia cocked her head curiously. Her brow furrowed.

"Why not?"

"You have an apartment," Luke pointed out. "Which is where I _thought_ you'd been sleeping. Until Chewie told me otherwise."

Leia considered him a moment, and sighed. She shifted, and leaned back against the wall, drawing a blanket around her shoulders and letting it hang there loosely. She crossed her legs and combed her hair over her shoulder, debating how honest to be with him. Though she frowned to herself, she decided there was no harm in showing some weakness to Luke.

"I don't sleep very well when Han isn't around," she said, keeping her tone even. "Knowing he's on a risky mission doesn't make it better," she noted. "This place smells like him. It's comforting."

"Doesn't your place smell like him?" Luke asked. He smirked. "I know you keep mum around the holoreporters, but he is _living_ there," he pointed out.

Leia smiled softly.

"Not like this place does," she murmured.

The _Falcon_ had been Han's so long that it was infused with him; even the cockpit was comforting. Hell, hearing Chewie swearing and banging around was comforting – it made her feel like Han was just around the corner, yelling at him about something. Not to mention that reporters spent so much time staking out areas around her apartment, they tended to forget to stalk to Falcon. So for the past few mornings, she'd been able to sneak into work without facing a ton of flashing bulbs and provocative questions.

"Any word?" Luke asked.

Leia shrugged.

"He's on radio silence," she murmured. "The best option for preservation of secrecy," she noted. "Tyr Taskeen monitors his flight path – no invasive objects, no altercations, no lost signal," she listed. "I assume he's doing fine."

"And the distress seal? Has it reappeared yet?"

Leia just shook her head silently – no. And she'd feel a lot more confident if it could come back, if it would reappear and prove there was really a reason for everyone to be out of sorts, for Han to think he so definitively had to go off and do this when it was starting to look so much like one big mistake –

She compressed her lips, and shivered slightly, shaking away the thoughts.

"Was there something you wanted to talk about?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"At breakfast," she prompted, arching a brow.

"Oh," he said, shifting his chin slightly. He chewed his lip for a moment, kind of debating her mood. "Well, no, not particularly," he said, equivocating on whether or not to bring it up. "I just wondered – "

"Spit it out, Luke."

"If you had any interest in researching who our mother was," Luke said in a rush, complying with her order.

Leia narrowed her eyes at him slightly. She didn't say anything for a moment.

"Our mother?" she asked finally.

Luke sighed nervously, and then groaned.

"Look, Leia, I know you hate me bringing up our fa – Vader," he corrected sharply, though it personally pained him to call Anakin Skywalker that, after the effort it had taken to turn him back. "But that doesn't change the fact that we have a history to understand, and that might be beneficial for anything we face in the future."

Leia remained silent, and Luke fidgeted, finally clearing his throat again.

"I'm not sitting around coming up with ways to get under your skin; I just have a hard time believing you're not curious – "

"I am curious," she interrupted suddenly.

He fell silent, his jaw slack. He raised his eyebrows.

"You are?"

She lifted her shoulders lightly.

"I was always…curious, somewhat, about where I came from," she said quietly. "I think all adopted children are. It's just that I had something so wonderful on Alderaan, with my parents," she said softly. "I think the happier adopted children are with their life, the less they care."

Implied in her comment was the fact that she _especially_ ceased to care when she found out she was Darth Vader's progeny. Luke gave her half a smile – it was easier for her; she'd never heard a single thing mentioned about her parents. But Luke, Luke had grown up with his uncle, with _relatives;_ it had been a strange mix of unanswered questions and off the cuff comments – sometimes, Uncle Owen got into his cups and said things that made Luke wonder.

He never mentioned a mother, though. He just said he'd met her once _. 'Some woman from Coruscant'_ Owen had said, and Aunt Beru had added that she was extremely beautiful, with very intimidating poise. Luke had scoured the records of Coruscant for mentions of Anakin Skywalker and a fellow Jedi, rumors of his affair with anyone – and had found nothing. Records were so scarce –

"Do you have any idea where we should start?" Luke asked.

Leia gave him a dry look.

"I think Mon Mothma knows who she was," she said.

Luke's eyes widened.

"What?" he gasped. "You – _how_? And why hasn't she – _what_?" he spluttered.

"She knew about Vader," Leia said heavily. "I was talking to her about you, quite a while ago. I could tell from the look in her eye – well, I got it out of her; she knew."

Luke stared at her in disbelief.

"And she never mentioned our mother?"

"I didn't ask," Leia said. She suddenly looked confused, even angry with herself. "It didn't even occur to me," she said slowly. Then, she looked up, and her jaw hardened. "Because – why should I care, now that I know who he was?" she demanded. "Do I want to hear about the renegade female Jedi who thought a Sith would be a good – "

"Don't you think you're getting ahead of yourself?" Luke broke in angrily. "We don't even know if she was in the Jedi order with him! It could have been a civilian, a childhood friend – "

"A slave, a prostitute, a woman he _raped_ on the street," Leia finished angrily.

Luke glared at her in shock, and then shook his head.

"You can think that if you want, but _don't_ wish that on me," he growled. "I like to imagine a mother who loved me."

She looked at him fiercely for a moment, and then she looked away, wincing heavily. She lowered her chin and stared down at the sheets around her, wishing she hadn't been so short with him. She wished she had Luke's capacity for forgiveness, or his optimism.

"You're the one who said you remembered your real mother," Luke ventured quietly. "On Endor. You said – "

"I know what I said," Leia said, still not looking at him. She licked her lips. She shook her head. "I said it to comfort you," she said. She paused. "If I think, very hard, as far back as I can remember, when my life is only images and colours, all I feel is incredible pain," she confessed softly. "Deep, penetrating, despair. I don't know if that's our mother, or if it's my early feelings being separated from her."

Luke stared at her, silent. He was always so overwhelmed by Leia's Force ability – where his was so physical, so tangible, easily manifested in fighting, gymnastics, manipulations of the corporeal, hers was ethereal in a sense – it no doubt contributed to her natural born political skill. If he thought back as far as he could feel and remember, he was three years old and Aunt Beru was shouting at him through tears because he'd run too far off the property, and she was afraid Sand People had taken him. For Leia to feel moments so far back she was barely able to fathom real thought – it made his head spin.

To hear that she thought that kind of crushing depression came from their mother made him feel cold all over – he tried to convince himself the latter part was right, it was her then-infantile instinct to grieve the loss of her natural mother, but the truth was, he couldn't be sure. He didn't know if he and Leia were products of Anakin Skywalker before his fall – or after. He didn't know when the machine had taken the man.

There was so much he – _they_ – didn't know.

"Have you thought about asking Mon Mothma?" he asked, swallowing hard.

Leia shook her head.

Luke sighed heavily.

"You know, Leia," he started, a bit grouchy. "I understand your aversion to the whole thing, but you might consider getting information for _me_ ," he pointed out.

"Don't you think it's remarkably telling that she didn't immediately divulge her identity?" Leia asked. Her face was unapologetic. She almost sneered. "I can't imagine the truth about her would be worse than Vader but," she paused pointedly, "reality often exceeds the darkest of my imaginings," she said bitterly.

Luke looked away for a moment, drawing on the Force to remain level-headed. When he composed himself slightly – he didn't want to create tension between himself and Leia, and especially not when she had enough on her plate with Alderaan and Han – he turned back to her.

"I think she must have been in the Order with him," he said carefully. "My theory – well, it just seems to fit. The Jedi were allowed no attachment – no family. They were supposed to work for the good of the citizens alone. If two Jedi became involved, and the pressures of secrecy combined with children, and the kind of stress love itself is," he trailed off. "Well, I suppose I can see how he could have been swallowed."

Leia turned to him. She leaned forward slightly, her lips pursed.

"You think _love_ is a path to the dark side?" she asked hoarsely, her eyes widening slightly.

Luke hesitated.

"Not love itself," he said slowly. "Obsessive love. Selfish love." He looked at her pleadingly. "There had to be a reason the Jedi forbade marriages and families."

Leia considered him silently.

"In the early days of Alderaanian religion, the churches required celibacy," she said grimly. "It eventually led to a culture of repression and abuse."

Luke held out a hand, palm up, as if to underscore his point.

"Maybe our parents were just trying to do what's natural."

Leia didn't say anything. She still didn't see how it meshed – an illicit affair going so badly that one half of the couple became the right hand man of the most atrocious dictator the galaxy had ever seen? What was the impetus for that, what was the end game?

"You don't imagine she's still alive, do you?" Luke ventured.

"No," Leia said abruptly – and immediately.

He looked surprised.

"You feel that?" he questioned.

"Not necessarily," Leia responded. She pushed some of her hair back. "But if she had survived, hidden like us, what would stop her from showing herself now that he's gone?" she asked. She shook her head dismissively. "Whoever she was, she's dead. Vader probably hunted her down looking for us."

"He didn't know about us," Luke corrected. "And even when he knew about me, he didn't know about you until the very last."

Leia took that with mild surprise, but she looked down, tugging at the blanket around her shoulders. She leaned back a little more heavily against the wall and shrugged. She sighed tiredly.

"We had good mothers, Luke, you and I," she reminded him edgily. "My curiosity is present I'm just – "

"Afraid," Luke finished, sensing it.

She nodded, closing her mouth tightly. He frowned.

"You had parents," he told her. "I had an aunt and uncle."

"They were your parents; they _raised_ you. They loved you," she said firmly. "Adoptive parents are the same – "

"No, Leia, you don't understand," Luke said flatly. "Aunt Beru, maybe – she couldn't have children of her own, and she desperately cared for me, but I never called them mother and father. And Uncle Owen – he cared about me. But not like a parent does," he tried to explain, brow furrowing. "He cared about … keeping me safe, and out of trouble." Luke was thoughtful for a moment. "The more I think about it, the more I think he knew about Vader. He was…scared of me."

Leia didn't say what she was thinking – _can you blame him?_ Owen Lars was probably walking around wondering if Darth Vader would suddenly sense Luke's presence, and show up to devastate his life. Or at the very least – wondering what he'd have on his hands if he ever pissed Luke off.

"Well," Leia said delicately. "I was raised to be a figurehead and a weapon," she told him.

"The milk is bluer on the other table, eh?" Luke snorted.

"Perhaps Death Star Day Care would have served us better."

Luke almost fell off his chair.

"Was that a _joke_?" he spluttered. "You made a _joke_?" he demanded.

He saw the subtle grin in her eyes, and shook his head, re-situating himself on the chair. He didn't want to press the issue – but Leia making jokes about Darth Vader, however dark and macabre they were, was definitely a step forward to – something. It was a step forward to _something_.

She smiled at him and shrugged a little. She surprised herself sometimes. Luke sobered a little, and shifted a little, looking at her earnestly.

"So if I pursue – our mother, instead of badgering you about the Force, and our fa – Vader," he began slowly. "Can I have your blessing? Can I come to you about it?"

She pushed her hair back again, and very carefully, gave him a nod. He looked relieved, and determined – he kept it to himself, but he thought if he could find anything about their mother, providing it wasn't something sinister, it might end up swaying Leia to try to understand the complexities of Vader. A long shot, for sure, but _possible_.

"Okay, well," Luke said, taking a deep breath. "In that case, I was wondering if you had a second name."

Leia looked slightly suspicious.

"If you did, I thought it might give some clues. I don't have one," he continued.

She hesitated a moment.

"I do," she answered finally. "But my birth mother didn't give it to me; my father did."

"What is it?" Luke asked.

"Amidala," she said.

Luke looked interested.

"That's not Alderaanian, is it? Your people have traditionally one or two syllable names," Luke murmured. "I wonder what the origin is," he mused.

"It's traditional among the Naboo, actually," Leia offered.

Luke frowned.

"How do you know?"

"Well, aside from the fact that I'm well versed in political history of key planets," Leia said, somewhat dryly, "My aunt told me once. She said," Leia paused, a distasteful look crossing her face. "She said Father chose it to honor a friend of his from the Senate." Leia tilted her head. "Actually, she said it was a hideous name. She was completely convinced Father had an affair with the woman, and then hushed up the pregnancy and brought me home to Mother for consolation."

Leia still remembered Aunt Celly's pinched expression when she was teaching Leia the proper penmanship for a court signature, how she'd looked when she helped her spell _Amidala._ Of course, it wasn't until much later that Leia discovered Celly was always of the opinion that her brother had been unfaithful to his wife when he'd so conveniently showed up with a baby, and even that was only through servant's gossip. She'd even entertained the idea herself – until Luke's revelation.

Grimly, she wished she was the product of infidelity.

Luke looked mildly amused.

"What a scandal," he remarked.

"It would have been, but it also would have explained the easy acceptance of an adopted heir," she mused. "Illegitimate is better than nonexistent. But Alderaan valued the mind of the ruler more than the bloodline. The succession was left alone, unless an heir seemed unsuitable." She stopped a moment. "If he or she was unsuitable, we elected a member from one of the aristocratic houses."

Leia fell silent quickly – she always felt so emotionally exhausted, discussing Alderaan. Any memory of it, any thoughts that lingered for too long – they just weighed on her so heavily.

"But, that's not what happened," Luke said logically. "So – did you know the senator he named you after? You grew up around politics, right?"

"I didn't know her," Leia said faintly. "If memory serves correctly, she was a former Queen of Naboo," she said slowly, her expression distant. "She was murdered during the Clone Wars. Actually, I think she was my friend Pooja's aunt. Or perhaps her mother?"

Luke listened to her talk, fascinated. When she trailed off, he noticed a perturbed expression on her face, and he wondered what she was thinking. He reached out, and she rebuffed him. After a moment, she spoke:

"I only asked Father about the second name once," she said softly, "and he told me Senator Amidala was murdered for resisting Imperial rule, and I should be proud of that." She was certain he'd also spoken harshly to Celly afterwards.

Luke cocked his head.

"Leia?" he asked, sensing she was mulling something over.

"Nothing," she said, almost sharply. She turned her dark eyes on him. "Luke, don't you think it would be better to find the planetary origin of our first names? They were the ones chosen by her – whoever she was."

Luke, still a little caught up in Leia's moment of reflection, took a moment to respond.

"Oh," he muttered. "Oh – yes, I suppose," he agreed. "They're so simple, though. Innocuous, even. Maybe purposely," he ventured. "Vague by design," he went on quietly. "I kept the surname, though, and you didn't. I thought maybe I'd find more scattered clues about our identity through your second name, so maybe I'll look on Naboo – '

"Yes," Leia said flatly. "Go looking there. Emperor Palpatine originated as the senator from Naboo. Please let me know if you discover he's a great uncle, or perhaps our grandfather," she said caustically.

She suddenly felt hostile to the whole idea of family.

"I've had enough of this," she told him with finality, an edge of stress to her voice.

She looked away. She felt shaky suddenly; she felt like she'd figured something out, but she wasn't sure what. It was akin to the feeling of – calm, nothing but calm acceptance, that she'd felt when Luke told her they were siblings. She'd been shocked in a superficial sense, but so content with the information and sure of it on a deeper level – and right now, she didn't want to address where that feeling might be coming from.

She was beginning to wonder if her lack of curiosity about her origins had been because she was so loved and happy on Alderaan, or if she'd been deliberately manipulated away from any search, if any burgeoning interest had been nipped in the bud with a carefully placed story.

Leia swallowed hard, and sat forward, the blankets falling from her shoulders.

"I should get up and about," she murmured firmly. "Sleeping here is one thing; dwelling in Han's bed every waking moment of my free time is unhealthy," she noted.

"He's going to be fine, Leia," Luke said, nodding his head for emphasis.

She hesitated, swinging her legs off the bunk. She pointed her toes towards the floor, gripping the side of the bed with white knuckles.

"Can you see it?" she asked softly, barely a whisper. "You saw our distress on Bespin – can you see his future now?"

Luke shook his head.

"I'm not that powerful," he said. "And seeing isn't my particular strength – I often misinterpret visions," he added, a bit dejectedly. "But if it helps, when I do extend my mind, I don't feel any pressing sense of disaster in your future."

"It doesn't help if you misinterpret things," Leia snorted pointedly.

She shook her head, setting her shoulders back stiffly.

"Start thinking more optimistically," Luke advised earnestly. "Wonder what you'll do if you see Bail Organa again – imagine Han – "

She was shaking her head, and he knew his attempts at levity, at encouragement, were failing.

"Don't, Luke."

"Even now, you don't believe it?" he asked, exasperated. "With a scout mission on their way to the Alderaan system at this very moment, you don't have _hope_?"

"I can't, Luke," she said hoarsely. " _I can't_."

Not yet. Not until Han was back beside her, stealing her covers, hoarding pillows, cracking wise-ass jokes while she was trying to work – greeting her in the morning with a kiss, staying up to keep her company when she couldn't sleep - she couldn't envision the future, and she couldn't let hope in the face of impossible odds buoy her emotions.

She couldn't. Not yet.

The fallout in the face of a letdown would destroy her.

There was a startling knock on the door, and Chewbacca poked his head in the cabin, raising a palm in greeting and growling a soft apology for interrupting.

 _[You two hungry?]_ he asked hopefully.

Luke grinned at him.

"Perfect timing, Chewie, you read my mind," he said. He glanced at Leia. "How about that breakfast?" he asked.

Still perched on the edge of the bunk in Han's shirt, she looked between them, needing something to occupy her off day. She inclined her head in a nod, and Luke got up, haphazardly swinging Han's chair back where it belonged. Chewbacca eyed her a moment, and then tilted his head with concern.

"I'm alright, Chewie," she said, intuitively answering his unspoken question.

He hummed at her encouragingly, and beckoned, clearly eager to get some food – Leia didn't say anything, but she was fairly sure Chewbacca felt as restless without Han around as she did. The kind of love they missed him with was different, naturally, but when it got down to it, they both had sworn him a life debt – and they would both be on edge until he was back.

* * *

 _apologies for the lack of Han this chapter - he's prominent in the next!_

 _-alexandra_


	8. Seven

_a/n: a "Han" chapter! I do have to say that Dansra got away from me a bit, but I love her. I hope you like her, too._

* * *

 ** _Seven_**

* * *

There wasn't much to do in the way of flying once hyperspace was entered and the course was set. The most basic of ships had an autopilot function – this one definitely did – and other than keep an eye out for interference or malfunctions, the actual voyage to the remains of Alderaan was likely to be an uneventful one.

That was one of the main reasons Han was glad he'd been able to choose his own crew – or rather, ask certain people who he knew he could put up with to volunteer. If he knew he could get along with everybody, boredom was less likely to turn into short temper. Aside from him there were four others, bringing the scout team to a total of five. He'd thought it best, based on his previous experience flying in the wrecked system, to bring a small ship that was better equipped to evade than to fight: it would help with navigation, and it would help them get out fast if the situation turned hostile. Having an uneven crew ensured there would be a tie breaking vote if a decision had to be made.

If being in a relationship had taught him anything, it was that sometimes, a tiebreaker was _desperately_ needed.

Han had abandoned a friendly, long-running gambling game with Darklighter and Antilles in favor of a moment of respite in the cockpit. He ran the day's intermittent system checks, and scanned the area for any trouble – none – and then opened the Captain's log to input reports so far, and hammer out possible contingency plans for what they might encounter. He'd been at it for probably an hour when Dansra poked her head into the cockpit.

"Hiya," she greeted brightly – he'd discovered that she was always extremely energetic, regardless of her emotion. He thought it was strange for an Alderaanian. Most of the ones he'd met since Alderaan's destruction had a thin veil of sadness constantly draped around them, even when they smiled. But if Dansra had that sadness, it was an energetic kind.

"Problems?" Han asked warily.

She shook her head.

"No, I just thought you might like some kaffe," she said, stepping into the cockpit with two mugs in her hand. "If not, I'll just go spill it on Gavin. He made a joke about my hair."

Han grinned, and gestured at the co-pilot's seat. Technically, he'd signed Wedge on as the co-pilot, but since everyone he'd brought with him had served the Rebellion in some capacity as a pilot, they had all taken to considering themselves second-in-command. It lent some friendly rivalry to the downtime.

He took the proffered mug from her and hit a sleep button on the log console, ensuring his input was saved until he went back to finish it. Dansra sat down comfortably and looked out over the viewport, her smile frozen pleasantly to her face as she took in the glowing blur of light speed.

"What'd Darklighter say about your hair?" Han asked. Her hair looked normal to him – but then again, any hair that wasn't Leia's looked _normal_ and downright _simple_ to him. If Leia ever threw her hair up into a ponytail as casually as Dansra had for the past few days, he'd think she needed medical attention.

"That I ought to put it in the ceremonials for my homecoming," Dansra answered dryly.

Han raised one eyebrow, uncomprehending.

Dansra lifted one hand and circled her ear with her finger.

"The buns," she clarified "Very infamous in the Imperial Courts. Spot an Alderaanian a mile away."

"Ah," Han muttered, remembering vividly. "That's for the whole planet, then?" he asked curiously.

Dansra rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"Nah, Gavin doesn't know what he's talking about," she retorted. "They're part of adolescence, an indication that a girl isn't an adult yet," she explained. "Or they're for formal functions – so balls, court events, or Senate hearings," she said.

"Explains why Leia quit wearing them," Han said.

He took a sip of his kaffe, but lowered it when he noticed the expression on Dansra's face.

"What?" he asked warily.

She shook her head, realizing she'd probably been staring at him in a mixture of amusement and surprise.

" _Nothing_ ," she said earnestly. "I'm just not used to anyone addressing her without her title."

"Oh," Han muttered. So much of his time was spent around Leia and others who were either close to her or of equal rank to her that he never considered there were people who wouldn't dare drop her honorific. Shifting uncomfortably, he shrugged. "I don't think she'd mind if you just called her Leia," he said, without really knowing what else to say.

"I'm not _reprimanding_ you," Dansra said, laughing gleefully. "Gods, Solo, I wouldn't expect _you_ to be standing on ceremony – it's just odd for _me_ ," she pointed out. "It's a reflex for me. Even if the rebellion sort of equalized people," she said conversationally, "you can't break some habits. I mean, back in the day, the only people who'd ever be able to address her informally were her immediate family members. High ranking court members at least had to preface her name with _lady_."

"Lady Leia?" quoted Han, making a face at the tongue-twister.

"No, Lady Organa," Dansra corrected. "She was the eldest. Well, only. But you get it."

Han nodded – truth be told, all that ceremony and tradition made his head ache, but it was always slightly intriguing to hear about the customs Leia had considered normal until her whole world had gone to hell.

"Did you know her on Alderaan?" Han ventured.

Dansra laughed again.

"My family wasn't even titled, and my father was a trader," she told him. "But I had a little sister named Breha." Han recognized it as Leia's mother's name. "Princess Leia's family was well-loved." Dansra took a thoughtful sip of her kaffe. "I traveled with my father a lot. He taught me to fly," she said. "Breha and mother always stayed home; they hated travel. Of course sometimes I wish they'd gone with us that last time, but then again," she paused briefly, "I think they'd be miserable anywhere but home."

Han watched her carefully, unsure if he should say anything. Dansra spoke about Alderaan easily – or at least, seemed like she did, and Han was used to a woman who was often unable to bear mentioning it for too long.

"Your father survived?" Han asked finally.

Dansra was quiet.

"The Disaster, yes," she answered quietly. "He killed himself a month later."

It was a trend among the Diaspora – suicide. Every time he heard about it, though, especially from someone who'd lost a parent, he wondered how a person could take their life when they still had family living. He wondered how Dansra's father could kill himself knowing how he and his daughter had suffered, and knowing she'd only be losing another part of her family.

"We were on Sullust when he did it," Dansra remarked calmly. "He was sorry," she said, hesitating. "But _his_ future was retirement on Alderaan, and he couldn't cope. I'd always dreamed of adventure, so Alderaan wasn't _all_ I had. I had my life ahead of me. I joined the Rebellion instead of following in his footsteps."

And that was the second trend – the rebellion was full of Alderaanians who, though once peaceful, had nowhere else to turn, no other organization to take them in. The Empire hunted them for sport, to make an example, and those who wouldn't die had to fight. The caveat now was, with the fighting over, suicide was quickly taking precedent as the solution to the survivors' displacement and despair.

Han wondered if pulling Bail Organa out of the wreckage could save the dwindling population.

Dansra turned her eyes to the viewport again, and leaned forward.

"I never imagined coming home," she said intently, her expression introspective. Then, softly, she said: "I wonder how I'll feel when I see it all torn to pieces."

Even those docile, reflective words sounded somehow energetic, and Han couldn't help but smile slightly. He had no doubt that she'd volunteered for this trip, and fought to be allowed to go, out of a sense of duty and hope, but he also sensed a part of her needed to see the destruction in a tangible way.

"How old are you?" he asked suddenly.

"Twenty-five."

Han nodded. The younger ones seemed to be the ones still trudging on, still trying to make it.

"We don't blame her, you know," Dansra said suddenly.

"What?" he grunted, taken aback.

"Princess Leia," Dansra said, turning her eyes on him fiercely. "We don't blame her. Most of us don't. The majority of us – _don't_ ," she told him. "It's not her fault."

Han narrowed his eyes.

"Most of you?" he asked shortly. "There are some who _do_ think it's her fault?"

"There are some who were virulently opposed to Alderaan's involvement in insurgency at all," Dansra said flatly. She said it as if that answered the question. "But even they know, deep down, that it wasn't her fault."

Han bristled.

"'Course it's not," he snapped. "They'd have blown the whole thing just for show even if she ratted Yavin out."

"I _know_ ," Dansra said pointedly. "I'm telling _you_ that so maybe, if she's ever feeling guilty – because she always looks like she feels so guilty," Dansra noted astutely, "you can tell her you heard it straight from one of her people that we don't want to crucify her."

Brooding on it quietly for a moment, Han said:

"She gets cold shouldered by some groups."

Dansra laughed somewhat grimly.

"That's the Alderaanian version of a slap across the face," she joked, though without mirth.

"That non-violent, huh?"

"It's very strange, unless you grew up there," Dansra murmured. "Alderaan had been weaponless for _years_. Even visiting dignitaries had to surrender weapons at planetary control. The only people exempt were the Jedi, and they usually respected the custom anyway. So many people thought it strange that a world that devoted to peace, kindness, and preservation of life was so deeply involved with a violent insurgency – but it ultimately makes sense," she analyzed. "Alderaan couldn't promote peace, and cherish its values, while the rest of the Galaxy suffered. Submitting to the oppression so we could have our way of life while ignoring the persecution and debasement of others was antithetical to a pacifist doctrine. At least," she sighed, "that's how the Organas felt, and that's how so much of Alderaan felt, and how we grew to be such a threat. Even if it hadn't come to a head with Princess Leia's sheer audacity – Alderaan had to choose. And in the end, most of us knew the right choice. But others thought there should be peace even at the cost of morality."

Dansra looked down into her mug thoughtfully.

"That's why there are some who resent her. Others, it's just grief. Needing someone to blame. I set people straight about it often, you know," she remarked. "She never had the generations deep commitment to pacifism that so many of us did. Her speeches never had the same reconciliatory gentleness as most Alderaanian rulers. You knew she'd be quick to execute justice the hard way if she saw no other recourse."

Han just stared at Dansra. She lifted her head, squinting at him reflectively still.

"But strangely enough, that's why there's been less outcry than you'd think about you."

"Me?" Han asked, pointing to himself, caught off guard again.

"About your suitability for her, when it comes to pedigree – "

"Dansra – "

"I don't mean aristocratic pedigree, I mean blood," she said simply. "Alderaanian blood. You noticed that any Alderaanian reporter doesn't bring up if she's worried about mixing blood," Dansra said. "Well, you'd think that's strange, because it's become desperately important for Alderaanians to marry other Alderaanians, to keep blood pure, to keep the dying names and dying people alive. But she's almost exempt from that. I don't want to hurt Princess Leia by implying we don't consider her ours, because we do," Dansra paused, "but," she went on, "she's not really Organa or Alderaanian _blood_. Her DNA doesn't belong to us like Viceroy Organa's or Queen Breha's or even Lady Winter Retrac's." Dansra sighed. "It's not a betrayal for her to follow her own path, Solo, because she's made of different stuff. She's a symbol and a leader for us, but with the throne she's responsible for gone…well, there are few Alderaanians who would begrudge a happily ever after," she said. "Especially since as an adopted Princess, she probably would have strategically chosen to marry into an ancient house and continue in the senate rather than ultimately take over the throne."

His kaffe cold, and his jaw slack, Han just stared – he'd never been given so much information on Alderaan, its collective psyche, or even Leia's past – at least, not that public, dignified, royal sort ofpast – as he had right now, and it was difficult to process.

"Kriff, Dansra," he swore finally. "You sound like a historian or somethin.'"

She laughed brightly.

"Believe it or not, I used to be total rubbish at history. But when your planet disappears, you work hard to know everything about it, and where you come from," she said firmly. "Anyway, I guess those are just my personal thoughts, but I am really active with the Alderaanian diaspora," she said proudly, "and the people I know and know well, they like Princess Leia." She flashed him a sudden smirk. "And a lot of us like _you_ because you're the reason we still have her."

Han looked embarrassed and turned away slightly, brushing off the compliment. He tucked away a lot of what Dansra had said, though. He wouldn't know how to phrase anything as beautifully as she had, and Alderaan wasn't something he brought up to Leia unless she specifically indicated interest in talking about it, but he wished there was some way to comfort her with this, if it would help. He wished he could tell Dansra point blank that Leia could use friends like her – _friends_ , not contacts, not political equals, not pleasant acquaintances, but _friends._

The way Han had Chewie, and Luke had the Rogue Squadron.

He just didn't think Leia would appreciate him playing matchmaker with friends like that, or even remarking on her personal life at all. Dansra wasn't some gossiping reporter, though, she was a fellow Alderaanian, and she clearly cared first and foremost about camaraderie among those who were left.

But instead of saying all that Han asked:

"Who's Winter Retrac?"

Dansra looked surprised.

"Oh, she was Princess Leia's foster sister," she answered. A wry smile touched Dansra's lips. "Foreign emissaries used to mistake _her_ for the Princess of Alderaan," she snorted. "She was much more resigned when they were younger. I think I remember a scandal, once, where Lady Winter showed up to a ball pretending to be the Princess – even with the Viceroy there – and no one knew where Princess Leia was," Dansra broke off, laughing at the expression on Han's face. "She was different before she was elected, before her life was constantly threatened."

"You said you didn't know her," Han retorted, a little grumpily.

"Well, no, but her life was public," Dansra said with a shrug. "Just like it is now."

Han nodded – well, that he believed. Leia didn't like the scrutiny of her personal life, that was for sure, but she bore it with grace, and she seemed unsurprised by it. He'd always thought it came from her experience in the Imperial Senate – and it probably did – but some of it indeed must have come from life as a child princess.

He smiled to himself a little regretfully. He'd heard that once or twice before – he could swear Rieekan had even said it – that Leia was different now than she had been _then_. That was understandable, but he was getting the impression that even before her election to the Senate she'd been hell to reckon with.

"I'm…kind of surprised you don't know who Winter is. Was."

Han sighed tensely.

"Look," he started protectively. "Don't go thinking any less of her, but she doesn't really talk about it," he said bluntly. "That night we had the emergency meeting, that's the first time she's asked about what it was like when I came up on the mess."

He tried to put that into perspective for Dansra. Some of this stuff – stuff maybe it seemed like he should know, about Alderaan, and about Leia – he wasn't ignorant of it because he didn't care, or because he and Leia weren't that close. She just couldn't talk about it. Her reflections on her home were rare, and usually occurred when she was immensely upset, and he didn't like to see her like that.

"I don't think less of her," Dansra said immediately.

She licked her lips.

"I hope we find something," she whispered earnestly. "I hope we get there and it's all true, and it's Viceroy Organa, and others," she shot Han a wry look. "Then _you_ get to explain yourself to Viceroy Organa," she teased.

Han glared at her. She laughed suddenly.

"Oh, hell – I thought Councilor Horm was going to pop a vein when you walked into that meeting," she snickered, hunching over a little at the middle. "I mean, you would think the old bastard genuinely thought Her Highness was going to be wearing white for the rest of her life!"

Han arched an eyebrow, and made it a point to say absolutely nothing – although he did particularly relish how Horm had spluttered and protested at the intimation that Han was always with Leia _at that hour._ He was also pleased that he didn't have to ask what white had to do with it – Leia had filled him in on that particularly Alderaanian custom on Bespin, when she'd asked Lando for something coloured to wear.

Dansra recovered from her laughter and sighed, slouching back.

"As it were, Solo," she murmured, still chuckling quietly. "I could use a distraction from thinking about Alderaan – it's possible I'll have a traumatic reaction to seeing it in shambles," she made that confession with such a blasé certainty that Han did a double take, hardly hearing her as she went on. When she fell expectantly silent, he had to clear his throat.

"What?"

"I _said_ ," Dansra repeated, "how well-versed are you on Luke Skywalker's love life?"

Han blinked at her.

"Er," he said unhelpfully. "Think you might be howling up the wrong wroshyr tree on that one."

The only woman he'd seen Luke express interest in was Leia, and he didn't really like to dwell on that.

Dansra shook her head.

"No, he likes women."

"That's not what I meant," Han said, brow furrowing. He grinned. "I mean, talk about someone who's gonna be wearing _white_ for the rest of his life –"

Dansra lunged forward suddenly, her face gleeful.

"Sweet sleeping _Sith_ , Solo, where have _you_ been?" she demanded wildly. Han arched his brows at her, and she put a hand on the armrest of his seat. "Commander Skywalker isn't a _virgin_ ; he's a _legend_ with the Alliance nurses."

Han laughed loudly.

" _What_?" he yelped, his brows going up further. "You got to be kidding me."

"Luxora Fumori said she saw different dimensions when she was with him."

Han threw up his hands, wincing.

"Okay, okay," he muttered. He in no way wanted details about Luke's…prowess. The apparently closely guarded secret of said prowess. How had the kid never mentioned –

"He's very discreet. A real gentleman," Dansra said, smirking.

"He is, huh?" snorted Han. "Then how'd you know about the legend?"

Dansra looked at him like he was crazy.

"The _nurses_ told me," she retorted, as if it were obvious. "Damn, Solo, you think women don't talk?" she whispered. "Be glad Princess Leia doesn't entertain personal questions," she muttered.

Han frowned slightly. In a moment of irrational panic, he wondered what Leia would say about him to gossip columnists if she decided to talk about their sex life candidly. Quickly, he shook that thought off – Leia would die before she'd give details, and she'd die of embarrassment if Han even hinted to Dansra that she was perfectly satisfied.

"Besides," Dansra was saying. "Any man who brags about his sexual skill is probably a disaster in the sack – isn't that right _ANTILLES_?" she screamed down the hall.

"WHAT?" Antilles yelled back, confused.

Dansra snickered, and shot Han a smug grin.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Han just snorted.

"Lady, I worked for Jabba the Hutt," he said by way of answer.

She laughed again, and started to get up.

"You're so legitimate now, I forget that," she teased. She paused in the cockpit entrance. "You rescued Princess Leia, she rescued you, you're going to rescue the Viceroy," she listed. "No wonder the holos call it the stuff of romance films. It's utterly to _dieeeee_ for."

Han rolled his eyes.

"Get out," he growled.

She did, and Han heard Antilles' muffled voice as he demanded to know what Dansra had been saying about him. Lifting his kaffe to his lips, Han turned back to the captain's log to finish what he'd been doing – he had a lot more on his mind, and he filed it away to think about when insomnia plagued him later.

* * *

For the umpteenth night in a row, Han had trouble getting to sleep. Once his turn on watch was over, he passed the cockpit vigil over to Darklighter and tossed and turned restlessly in his bunk for an hour before he abandoned hope and got up, digging a data pad out of a drawer and siting down on the bunk to go over the files he'd been given by Dodonna and Rieekan.

The largest file was on Leia's father – Viceroy Bail Prestor Organa, Alderaan's monarch and emissary to the Senate, until Leia had taken over. Han had skimmed the files previously, but he looked at them more closely now, in case he needed them.

Bail Organa had been the head of House Organa, an ancient aristocratic house. He'd married Breha Antilles after a dispute over succession, solving the problem – Queen Breha had been unable to have children, which is why Leia Organa had been adopted. Bail had served in the Galactic Republic and in the Imperial Senate and, despite the fact that their marriage had solved a contentious political issue, all accounts indicated Bail had sincerely loved his wife.

He had three sisters – Celly, Tia, and Rouge. He had a scar behind his left ear, and a permanent burn on his shoulder caused by a lightsaber; a wound sustained during the Clone Wars. Bail hadn't fought in them technically, but he'd commanded Clone troops from the Senate. He'd been a very close friend of Obi-wan Kenobi – who Han only knew as Ben – before the old Jedi was presumed dead after a battle on Utapau.

Han scrolled through the files, memorizing questions to ask for identity verification. There was no mention of Luke anywhere in it, not that Han expected there to be. It was a fairly clinical file, though it did have some interesting tidbits – one verification question asked Bail to reveal how old Princess Leia was when she dropped a water balloon on Grand Moff Tarkin's head from her bedroom balcony.

The answer was listed as thirteen, and Han laughed out loud.

He checked the tabs of the electronic file – Rieekan and a few others had put their heads together to try and determine who might have gone off on a stealth or emergency mission with Bail Organa to either negotiate for Leia or to make a desperate run for Ben Kenobi – that's what they had decided the royal ship must have been doing if it was leaving the system during the destruction.

On a whim, he searched _Retrac, Winter._ Her file popped up. The picture was of a demure looking girl about Leia's age, with ice blonde hair. She certainly lived up to her name, appearance wise. Her description was simpler – blue-eyed, several measurements taller than Leia, skilled in languages and cryptological engineering. Her question required an answer as to who the Alderaanian Minister of Agriculture had been when Breha Organa's sister was imprisoned - Deara, Breha's sister, had been arrested for informing on the royal family to the Empire.

There was a file on Breha herself - her brother had been a Prince Bail Antilles, former Senator and one-time contender for Supreme Chancellor of the Old Republic. Bail seemed to be as common a given name on Alderaan as Antilles was a surname in the civilized systems, and Han wondered how Leia had ever kept her family members straight. There were files on the Viceroys sisters, Celly, Tia, and Rouge Organa – there were files on several high-ranking advisors, two Peace Ministers, some specialists in other things. He was surprised for a moment to see no military leaders, but then he remembered Leia saying something about Alderaan barely even having a ceremonial army.

Everyone was a diplomat in this world.

He rubbed his jaw, the words blurring as he stared at them. To think, he was reading briefs on all these people, memorizing small demographic facts, committing their faces to his brain, and before now, he'd only heard their names in passing, or perhaps associated with a vague story that Leia quickly stopped talking about.

It made him angry, and it made him sad, and heavily sympathetic to her. That she couldn't even bear to tell him about these people who'd been close to her – couldn't bear to remember how wonderful her life on Alderaan must have been – it spoke volumes for how much she'd lost, and for what kind of damage this disaster had done.

Her scars from the Death Star were more tangible to him – in some cases, literally tangible – but this was such an abstract loss, it was hard for him to wrap his mind around it. She was so put together most of the time, so strong, that sometimes he was almost fooled into thinking she was invincible; that she'd come to terms with it.

Han set aside the datapad and rubbed his eyes, slumping back against the wall of the bunk. The firm hums of the ship's machinery echoed in his ears, but it was still too quiet; he was starting to think his trouble sleeping had nothing to do with being on edge about what this mission meant. It was simpler than that: he just _missed_ Leia.

It was almost strange to acknowledge that. He and Leia had been apart countless times before, and no doubt would be in the future. For months on end after the fall of the Empire, they'd been on separate planets for weeks, only to reunite, and have to split up again – though inserted herself on his command, on his missions, whenever possible and whenever it wasn't a move that abused her power. But since the calming down had begun, since the final Moffs' demises, since the Warlord Zsinj had been killed and Han returned to Coruscant, that had changed. He realized that for the past two months, and even more so since they'd moved in together, he'd seen her every day, and slept with her every night, and that was more than they'd done in five years of fighting alongside each other.

It was almost a shock to his system to be away from her suddenly, and it was worse knowing she hadn't wanted him to go in the first place, and she was back at home struggling with this whole ordeal.

He ran a hand over his face and frowned at himself – he still felt he was doing the right thing though, coming out here, taking this risk, figuring out what it all meant. If for no other reason than at least, if nothing came of it, she wouldn't have to live the rest of her life with uncertainty. And if the stars aligned and the best-case scenario presented itself, maybe her father could give her answers she desperately needed to move on with her life.

Han couldn't think of much else he wanted in life, other than Leia's happiness. He remembered a man, years ago, who'd been a part of nothing, who'd stood for nothing, who'd run just about anything for anyone as long as it got him paid – and maybe that had come from feeling rejected by the establishment, when he'd been kicked out of the Academy for being too independently inclined, maybe it came from an aversion to putting all of his faith in one thing, or one life, because he knew it could all go up in smoke. These days, though, he barely remembered that man. He believed in Leia's cause because she inspired him, and he believed in Leia.

It wasn't an unhealthy obsession with her that drove him; he had other interests. He'd been happy smuggling, but the difference now was the he didn't think he'd ever be the same person if he lost her. He didn't want to be the way he was. He didn't care if the whole galaxy did watch his every move for the rest of his life – if it meant that woman was asleep next to him when he woke up every morning, so be it.

Letting his head fall back with a soft thud, Han groaned internally – he needed some damn sleep, or any surprises were going to outwit him. He needed to be on his toes – he hoped she was sleeping all right on Coruscant.

Still too on edge, too frustrated, to sleep, he pulled the datapad towards him again, flicking the files down and pulling up a search engine. He blocked out the sound of Antilles snoring across the quarters, and imagined her soft breathing in his ear instead, fingers moving quickly as he pulled up results of a query.

Leia had already said she'd marry him, but he looked into her planet's courtship customs, anyway - - _after all_ , he thought dryly, _I might end up having to ask her father._

* * *

 _i find it maddeningly difficult to write men most of the time (which is funny, since so many men think it's so easy to write women!) so i hope this turned out well. played with some stuff from the Legends Star Wars universe, as told on Wookieepedia (my favorite place)._

 _feedback appreciated!_

 _-Alexandra_


	9. Eight

_a/n: Han's still on his journey, Leia's still kicking ass around the planet ... are you ready to kill me for drawing it out yet?_

 _ **note:** on A03, I have a "rape/noncon" warning attached to this story. it's not because of anything that happens in the story, but because of events that are referenced. so here i want to note that this a chapter that specifically deserves the warning. just in brief flashbacks, but absolutely nothing graphic. at least, not graphic in a game of thrones sense, if you know what i mean. still: polite to warn you._

* * *

 ** _Eight_**

* * *

When General Rieekan had come to her to offer several different – less public – assignments, he'd avoided mentioning that Mon Mothma and Dodonna had originally proposed she give her attention to the impending opening of the War Crimes tribunals. He'd first asked her to analyze Old Republic documents, to which she'd replied she wasn't a historian; he'd then suggested she go about working with staff to organize the terminology used in various diplomatic agreements – but she'd found the briefing on the War Crimes tribunals in his papers, and volunteered to work in that area.

Rieekan hadn't been coy with her; he'd told her the point was to get her out of the public eye, if she was willing to let them do that for her. She accepted – she was tired of the press reminding her of Han, anyway; their constant demands to know _where he was_ and _why she was hiding him_ were grating on her nerves, reminding her that all she had of Han right now was Chewie, the Falcon, and his somehow perpetually wrinkled bed sheets.

She could tell Carlist hadn't wanted her in the courts dealing with the procedures and meetings leading up to these tribunals, and that was perhaps why she'd deliberately chosen them. Perhaps it also had something to do with a wild desire to confront her demons or –

 _Sith_ , she didn't know.

The quieter the world got, the more they moved towards peace, the more she seemed to utterly lose her grip. Where was the focus she'd had during the war, the control over herself? Gone; obliterated with the Death Star over Endor.

"There's actually only one problem preventing us from going forward," remarked one of the legal emissaries from Chandrila – Mon Mothma's home planet had always been renowned for its legal schools, and so many of its natives were handling the reinstatement of democratically-minded court systems.

"Only one?" Leia asked mildly. "That's miraculous," she remarked, deadpan.

"Well, other than the obvious," the emissary – Lis Kamora was her name – corrected hastily. "Systems still loosely under Imperial control, or unwilling to join another Galactic coalition, aren't necessarily going to abide by our rulings anyway."

"But if we can solve this large problem, we might be able to win more systems over in the process," Ralla Mexon spoke up – she was a Twi'lek with light purple skin, a being who had been recently freed from slavery – old, with crinkles around her eyes, she'd been an attorney in the old Republic, and her mind was just as sharp as it used to be.

"What's the problem?" Leia asked warily.

Ralla and Lis shared looks, and a male human from Stewjon, called Cado-Blim, shared a look with a male Mon Calamari, and then leaned forward, wincing as he cleared his throat.

"It's, ah, a two pronged problem, Your Highness," he remarked.

Leia looked at him expectantly, saying nothing.

"It might be three pronged," Ralla said.

"So," Leia drawled slowly. "We have lots of problems."

There was a small chorus of agreement, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She turned in her chair, and nodded at Lis.

"Enlighten me."

"Similar to the old Republic, a cornerstone of our new transparent court system will be ensuring all accused individuals within the Republic courts receive fair representation, provided by the establishment if they cannot provide their own," Lis explained.

Leia nodded shortly – she knew that, naturally, having been involved in devising legal codes and constitutions for several proposed branches of the new government.

"Most of our accused have had their accounts frozen, their wealth confiscated, et cetera – pending outcome of their trials," Lis went on.

"And if they're found guilty, that wealth will be distributed to victims of the Empire – refugee funds, rebuilding funds," Ralla noted.

Leia leaned forward.

"Problem one," she began, catching on quickly. "The accused have no means to pay for counsel."

The four officials around her nodded.

"Not to mention former Stormtroopers we're holding never had personal funds anyway," rasped the Mon Calamari – Aki Arshaw. "Appalling, really, the way the clones were – "

Ralla cleared her throat, and Leia pretended not to notice the subtle nod she threw in her direction. She ignored Arshaw's moment of pity for the Empire's drones, and just nodded her head, holding her hand up.

"No one can afford counsel," she repeated. "We have to provide it." She gave them a grim look. "I'll hazard a guess that that brings us to our second problem."

"Exactly," sighed Cado-Blim. "You'll find it unsurprising that attorneys throughout the New Republic are point-blank refusing to provide a defense."

He was right – Leia found it unsurprising. She felt no sympathy for those on trial; her own captors were long dead, blown to smithereens at the Battle of Yavin, but that didn't stop her from seeing Tarkin's face in every wrinkled old bastard with an Imperial uniform; it didn't stop her from assuming that every inhuman horror that had been inflicted on her had been done to other prisoners as well.

"We've significantly increased salary offers," Ralla said dryly. "Though it's encouraging that our attorneys won't sell their convictions, it doesn't fix our problem."

Leia made a quiet noise under her breath.

"On the other hand," Lis sighed, "there are several non-humans and non-humanoid attorneys who have volunteered to represent the Imperials, however – "

"Impartiality is in jeopardy," Leia murmured.

"Very," Lis emphasized. "Given non-human treatment under the Empire, it's likely those volunteering are intent on purposely botching a defense."

Leia frowned – well, the problem _was_ obvious. It was hard to convince uncertain planets that the New Republic would be much better than the Empire if they couldn't even prove they were given a fair defense to the defeated.

"What's almost comical," Arshaw spoke up sarcastically, "is that the Imperials refuse to be represented by non-humans."

Leia narrowed her eyes. Again, it was unsurprising, considering the regime's penchant for prejudice and oppression, but it further impeded her ability to think impartially on the matter. She thought carefully a moment, and then grit her teeth.

"We may have to allow former Imperial attorneys to represent their…comrades," she said finally, though the words left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Your Highness," Ralla said, "so many of them are under suspicion for their own crimes – "

"Yes, Ralla, but not _war_ crimes," Lis placated. "Financial crimes, systematic abuses but – ah, we've already determined we can't try them for failing to abide by Old Republic or New Republic laws when technically they were following the law of _their_ government," she noted.

"We shouldn't be giving those bastards legitimacy by allowing them a place in our court system!" Cado-Blim burst out. He clenched his fist. "We'd have to _pay_ them. We'd be putting our credits in Imperial pockets!"

"I didn't say I liked it, Cado," Lis snapped.

"I don't think I'll agree to it," Ralla said nastily. "We're supposed to be weeding Imperials out – "

"Building a New Republic is a messy business," Leia broke in, speaking over the fray. She waited until it died down, and she had attention, and then she put her hands up, her eyes hard. "I am the last person in this room who wants to see Imperials defend their friends on the stand," she said icily, "and I hardly have any sympathy for sadists and their lack of legal representation," she added. "But," she began very clearly, gritting her teeth. "We are building a _democracy_. We cannot unilaterally execute everyone who resisted us, and we cannot isolate and exclude anyone who was remotely involved with the Empire," she said grudgingly. "That in itself is un-democratic and it – frankly, it ignores the nuances of life."

"Nuances?" snorted Cado-Blim skeptically.

"Nuances," Leia repeated sharply. "Some of these people did what they did to survive. Some simply lived, without questioning, in the world they were born into – and so on." She felt like she was forcing the words out, because there was a significant part of her that wanted to light the criminals on fire and watch them burn with a tight, satisfied smile on her face.

But she also wanted to be better. She didn't want the Empire to have won, to have turned her into one of them, to have taken her humanity and stolen her ideals. She looked down at her hands, splayed them on the table, and cleared her throat.

"We are going to strive to be better," she said quietly. "That means administering justice where justice is due, and reintegrating all beings into society – if they so wish."

She waited a moment, looking around, and then sat back some, clearing her throat.

"Speaking purely from a diplomat's perspective for a moment," she said carefully, "if we were to allow former Imperial lawyers to stand as counsel – which we may have to," she said, lifting a few placating fingers, "the nature of these trials may very well influence some reluctant worlds to our side."

Arshaw, who had been frowning deeply the whole time, suddenly frowned – less deeply. He shared a look with Ralla, and his mouth twitched slightly.

"If worlds that are loosely Imperial held, or considering remaining independent and non-compliant, see us being so liberal and, ah – inclusive with our system, despite denunciation of the Empire," he said slowly, "they'll see us as a solid option; as a beacon of truth – that's what you're saying, Your Highness?" he asked.

She inclined her head.

"We'll be trusted; seen as fair and balanced at the get-go," Lis murmured.

Leia nodded again, waving her hand slightly.

"It's worth considering. Systems that choose to remain outside of the Republic destabilize us."

"Yes, indeed," murmured Cado-Blim. He gave Leia an intent look. "You're a very astounding woman, do you know that, Your Highness? If I may be so bold."

"I believe you just were," Leia said lightly, acknowledging the compliment, but keeping it at arm's length all the same. "I'd advise you not to give me too much credit," she added simply. "Words do not always reflect feeling. It's not easy to reconcile personal vendettas with the greater ideals of democracy."

"In other words," Cado-Blim noted. "Fake it until you make it."

At that, Leia laughed – what a quaintly _simple_ way to put it.

"Alright," Lis said with a heavy sigh, shuffling some papers. "I will take Princess Leia's recommendation to the provisional bench - it does seem the best course of action, and I'm not too worried that it will result in acquittals," she said. She paused. "There are so many people who have been waiting to see these war criminals burn," she added quietly.

"Here, here," Arshaw growled – he and Ralla, naturally, had considerable personal problems with the accused Grand Moffs and other high-ranking officials, due to their persecution of non-humans.

"The second order of business – possibly as thorny," Lis said, moving on quite quickly. "Regards levels of prosecution and whether we'll be trying different ranks in different manners."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Leia asked sharply.

"Well, Princess," Cado-Blim began warily. "The Grand Moffs – more often than not –weren't actually present for the, ah, carrying out of their orders."

When Leia only stared at him, stone faced, he cleared his throat and continued.

"We're determining whether to try everyone on the same level, or if a caveat about following orders is going to be included," Cado-Blim clarified.

"In order to address the defense some might give that they feared for their lives if they disobeyed orders to use the nerve agents, to rape female prisoners – " Lis went silent, her face flushing, when she saw Leia visibly flinch away from her words.

Still, Leia didn't acknowledge her physical reaction, and pointed her finger hard into the table, shaking her head.

"We won't be making allowances for a defense like that," she said curtly.

"Your Highness, it's going to be the favorite defense of these lower level officers; there might at least be provisions – "

"No, there won't be," Leia said firmly, interrupting. She grit her teeth, and then gave Lis Kamora a steely glare. "There were _thousands_ of us who had lives, and families, in danger if we dared stand up to the empire. There were thousands of us who were scared – who were disadvantaged – who were under their power," she said harshly, "and still dared to retain our sense of self, and our sense of decency."

Lis closed her mouth tightly, and Cado-Blim looked away. Arshaw and Ralla, however, watched her intently.

"There were some who, when told to submit, or to carry out their barbaric orders, refused, and because of that, were subjected to the torture and the – violation – you've mentioned," she went on. "If citizens could say no to being pawns, to being used as instruments of violence, then these officers could have. If senators could say no – if _Princesses_ could," she paused, "knowing what it would cost them," she broke off, catching her breath. "We are here today because the people who stood up to oppression formed an alliance and fought back. And we will not authorize courts that allow lower officers to use 'I am a weak person' as a defense. This Republic will not make excuses for lack of character."

She held their gazes for a moment, and then shook her head just a tad, jerking her chin with finality.

"Whether they were giving the orders or carrying them out, the Imperials will be tried for War Crimes under the same standards. They are on trial for their methods as much as they are on trail for refusing to put a stop to it."

Leia sat back in her chair, compressing her lips. She cast an eye around a table in the silence – she wasn't altogether unused to reducing a company to silence when she spoke; it wasn't arrogance that gave her confidence, it was simply that she'd been trained to do this, and she'd always performed well.

After a moment, Cado cleared his throat.

"Remind me again why they have you in here when you could be out in public, winning hearts and minds?"

Though Leia feared his compliments were starting to border on flirtation, she gave him a small, tight smile.

"That would be because the public has no interest in what I'm saying currently, unless it has something to do with General Solo," she said crisply.

Ralla laughed good-naturedly.

"You can't quite blame them there," she remarked. "But – since we respect your privacy, Your Highness, we won't be getting into that _here_ ," she said, giving Cado-Blim a remarkably pointed look.

The Stewjonian hastily closed his mouth, effectively silencing whatever he'd been about to say – and Leia made a show of not noticing him, barely able to resist rolling her eyes.

"As soon as we get all this sorted, we can go forth with the opening trial," Lis said, clearing her throat. "Which will be – "

"The trial of Grand Moff Luschek," Arshaw spoke up, sliding a file onto the table. "He was in charge on Sullust and was often closely associated with – "

"Tarkin," Leia said grimly, taking the file. Luschek had been Tarkin's star pupil.

Her colleagues nodded.

"Luschek was particularly notorious for his use of probe droids even on prisoners he knew had no information."

"Garden variety sadist," Leia said coolly, without looking up from Luschek's file. Her mouth tightened as she read over the first page of accusations. They were damning, to be sure – but of course, she reminded herself, he had to be tried.

"Strange thing about Luschek was his divergence from Tarkin with female prisoners," Cado pointed out. "Luschek never used rape. He seemed to think it made them angry enough to resist with more determination."

Leia's vision blurred slightly, voices echoing in her ears; strange, to hear Grand Moff Luschek had been of that opinion; had he learned it from Vader? She remembered Vader and Tarkin standing over her, just before dragging her to the bridge to face Alderaan, both of them unaware she was still conscious, Vader's deep, rasping voice echoing through the cell -

 _"You deliberately disobeyed me. You should not have ordered this. You have insulted her more than you could have with the drugs and the droids combined."_

 _"Perhaps,"_ Tarkin had said, in his oily, snakelike voice, _"to wring the resistance out of a person, you must first deprive them of pride. She thought we would not dare. She knows better now."_

 _"Your methods are pedestrian. She will never give you her mind, not after you've taken her body."_

She'd thought it was a strange observation for Vader to make, and deep in her tired soul, she knew he was right; she'd never have talked anyway, but after _that_ -

" _This was not to make her talk. This was to punish her,_ " had been Tarkin's next words, then: " _Have her dressed. Escort her to the viewport."_

She supposed she'd proved Vader right on the bridge, when she stood before Tarkin and made herself meet his eyes, despite knowing he'd been in her cell an hour earlier, despite knowing it had been his order, that which he'd so callously authorized his lieutenant to do.

"Going through these files, I have to say I was amazed at how many humans seem to be hiding such a violent nature," Ralla said, her lips tight and unforgiving. "Many of these people weren't born under the Empire – it's frightening to think they were just waiting for the opportunity or the power – no offense meant to your entire species," she added suddenly, nodding at Leia, Lis, and Cado-Blim in turn.

The latter two shrugged slightly warily; Leia looked up from her file.

"You won't hear us defending the scum of our humanity, Ralla," she said simply. "Imagine how appalled we are at what they inflicted on their own, much less non-humans," she remarked dryly.

Like cannibalism, inter-species violence was usually considered less explicable or justifiable than cross-species conflict.

Ralla's cheeks tinged a deep violet, nonetheless, and she seemed embarrassed to have shown some bias. It wasn't something that bothered Leia – she wasn't necessarily one in favor of competitions concerning who had it worse, but despite what she'd been through at the hands of Vader and his ilk, she knew that non-humans had always had it infinitely worse. They, after all, had been enslaved; Leia, up until the point she chose to show her true colours, had been allowed the freedoms, however superficial, of an Imperial senator and member of the Alderaanian royal house.

There was a silence as Leia looked through the file, and she shut it abruptly, sliding it back towards the others. She cleared her throat, her head starting to ache slightly.

"Your Highness, are you alright?" Lis asked suddenly. "You've turned pale."

"I'm fine," Leia said tightly.

She took a deep breath, blocking out the words she'd read, and the memories they'd brought. She swallowed hard, and then cleared her throat. She should have given it more thought when Rieekan advised her not to do this.

"You'll be moving on to the trial order, at this point?" Leia asked, hoping she didn't sound too faint.

"Yes, Your Highness," Arshaw answered in his gravelly voice.

Leia nodded firmly, standing up.

"I think it's best if I brief the Chief of State on our consensus regarding the attorneys," she remarked mildly. "She'll want to take it to the special council of the Senate at least."

Lis Kamora nodded, still looking concerned. She did not say anything, however, and instead stood respectfully as Leia excused herself. The others followed suit, and Leia gave them each a practiced, cordial nod as she left the windowless court chamber – the first place she went upon leaving, however, was not Mon Mothma's office; she retreated to her apartment for a long, cleansing shower.

* * *

When she was awoken in the middle of the night again to be dragged to the Alderaanian consulate, Leia was less confused than she had been the last time, but infinitely more concerned. What concerned her most was that both Luke and Rieekan had showed up at her door – well, more accurately, Chewie had peered into Han's cabin on the _Falcon_ to inform her Luke and Rieekan were at the ramp.

She didn't have time to blush at Rieekan's slightly amused, slightly smug look as she hastily threw on a distinctly male robe and came down the ramp; Luke grabbed her arm excitedly, a smile bursting across his face.

"Han made contact," he said, dragging her towards a speeder. "Through the secure channels."

"Wait," Leia cried, planting her heels. "Wait – Chewbacca, would you like to come?" she asked.

Luke looked at her like she was crazy; worrying about the Wookiee, when he'd just told her they had news like this – potentially very good news. Not that Chewbacca wasn't concerned about Han; it's just that this was about Leia's planet –

 _[Go on, Princess.]_ Chewbacca answered sleepily. _[I'll make some tea for when you return.]_

"Chewie, you don't have to – "

She barely finished her sentence before Luke whisked her forward and practically threw her into the speeder he'd come in. He got behind the wheel while Rieekan, slightly less enthusiastic, got into the passenger seat and turned at the waist to look at Leia.

"Apologies for the urgency, Princess," he said lightly. "We thought you'd like to know."

Luke revved the speeder's engine and started them on a path towards the consulate, piloting the thing swiftly but with expert care. Leia leaned forward, stretching as far as her restraining belt would allow. She placed her hands on the tops of the front seat of the speeder.

"Is Han alright?" she asked quickly, her heart starting to hit in quick, painful little beats against her ribs. "He wasn't supposed to – I thought we determined radio silence unless he was in distress – "

"Or unless there was something noteworthy in the system when he reached it," Rieekan finished.

"Yes," Leia agreed, lips pursed. "But he wasn't scheduled to reach the Alderaan system until tomorrow evening," she noted.

"Well, he wasn't the best smuggler in the Alliance for nothing, Leia," Rieekan said with a laugh. "He must have pushed the limits – regardless, he made contact about fifteen standard minutes ago."

Leia swallowed hard, her eyes flicking from Rieekan's and then over to Luke – well, to the side of Luke's face – to his ear, really. From Rieekan's eyes to Luke's ear, but she knew Luke could sense her gaze – sense her presence, really, because she was deliberately allowing it.

"Dodonna and Taskeen are there," Luke answered her unspoken question. "They sent Kell to wake Mon Mothma. Carlist and I left to get you when we saw Han's signal – "

"Because of all the electrical interference in the system, we're having trouble getting a secure connection," Rieekan explained. "But there's a clear attempt to make contact – "

"And there's no indication it's a distress signal," Luke assured her quickly, sensing the beginnings of panic that started to grip her.

Her unrest didn't exactly subside, and she narrowed her eyes. She fell silent, and Rieekan turned his head towards her, catching her eye.

"This means there was something there," he said earnestly.

Leia studied him quietly.

"You think he found something?" she asked.

Rieekan nodded firmly.

"Something, someone," he said, the excitement clear in his eyes. "Otherwise, he'd just have turned back, reported an uneventful scout mission on return."

"Unless this is something else," she said levelly, her expression grim, "and they're in trouble."

"Leia," Luke said suddenly, slight irritation evident in his voice. "Will you quit being so pessimistic?"

"Why?" she shot back sagely. "If I remain pessimistic, even average news seems good."

"Well, that's just a lovely way to look at the world," Luke retorted loudly, making a face. "Expect disaster."

"It's more prudent than the constantly naive view you've got," Leia fired back.

"I prefer wholesome and pure," Luke drawled.

Leia pinched his shoulder.

Rieekan turned an amused eye on her, arching his brow.

"It's a damn shame you two didn't grow up together," he remarked gleefully, imagining the kind of trouble a pair of force connected twins could have given the Viceroy of Alderaan.

"Luke would have cracked under the pressure," Leia snorted under her breath.

"I bet your father can tell us who's older," Luke retorted, "and when we find out it's _me,_ you'll always have to listen to your older, wiser brother."

"I'm clearly the older," Leia said evenly. "Why else would they have just dropped you in a desert?"

Luke shook his head good-naturedly, and shrugged, maneuvering the speeder through a shortcut and steering them straight towards the Alderaanian building – it really wasn't all that far from the military docking bays, where Han had left the _Falcon_ when he deployed on his mission.

Rieekan cleared his throat as Luke approached the docking area.

"While we're discussing philosophies on life," he said mildly, "I'll add my two cents – Princess, you might allow yourself to get optimistic for this one."

Sitting back as Luke parked the speeder, Leia eyed Rieekan critically, her lips pressed together tightly. He got out of the speeder and, respectfully, held out his hand to her to assist her in hopping down. She took it, squeezing his elbow tightly a moment.

"You're optimistic?" she asked, sizing up his expression.

"Leia," he said quietly, "I think it's time to start believing in miracles."

She looped her arm through his and fell into step with him, Luke hurrying up from behind, as they entered the elegant embassy building and made their way through the corridors not to the conference room they'd gathered in for previous meetings on this topic, but to the intelligence center. Leia braced herself as they entered the room – the whir and hum of the electronic monitoring systems immediately accosted her, and she took a moment to survey the room: Mon Mothma had arrived, looking extremely exhausted; she was talking quietly with Dodonna while Kell and Taskeen bent over the monitoring systems.

Threkin Horm, Leia noticed, was absent.

"Princess Leia," Mon Mothma greeted warmly, appearing to stifle a yawn. She nodded her head at Taskeen. "Tyr is attempting to get General Solo back on the line."

Dodonna turned to greet her and arched his eyebrows; Leia folded her arms across herself, conscious of her attire. It might not have been best to throw Han's robe over her pajamas and rush off without thinking about touching up her hair, but Luke had been in such a rush – and on second thought, she noted, fixing her gaze on Jan slightly defiantly, he could get used to it.

"It's gravitational interference that's making communication difficult," Tyr remarked, frowning. "The system is so unstable – ah, ah; Solo, you there?"

There was some crackling, a pop, and then, Han's voice answered over the interspace comm system:

"Yeah. For now."

His voice, tinny and scratchy through hyperspace, had the usual half-sarcastic drawl. Leia beamed, and moved closer to the system, Luke and Rieekan at her heels. Taskeen moved to the side, and she put her hands on the console, leaning forward.

"Han?" she asked.

The connection crackled ominously again. Then:

"Yes, Princess?"

He used her title pointedly, out of respect for company, but the smugness in his tone was evident, and she couldn't help but grin, personally knowing full well that when he used the honorific, it was much more as a pet name than it was him respecting tradition.

"I take it you haven't met an untimely end?" she asked dryly.

"You're wrong there, Your Worship, I'm contacting you from the great beyond," he retorted.

Luke put his arm around Leia and squeezed, and she leaned back, shaking her head – in time to see Dodonna give a slightly perplexed look to Mon Mothma and mouth 'Your Worship?' Mon Mothma shrugged, and leaned forward, clearing her throat politely – but authoritatively.

"What have you got to report, General Solo?" she asked calmly. "The communication line is quite unstable," she added, leaving the rest unspoken – in other words: there will be plenty of time to flirt later.

"Ahh, yeah," Han said, through a burst of static. "Yeah, that's the problem – look, we got into the system pretty rough, got slingshot through some unstable breaks in hyperspace," he said grudgingly. "Got us here faster, but the ship took a beating."

"Is it operational?" Kell asked.

"Yes; Darklighter fixed the engine leak," came another voice.

"Dansra?" asked Rieekan.

"Here, sir," she answered, her voice warbled. "The malfunctions were minor, but the space out here wreaks havoc on everything."

She sounded exhausted, and shaken, and they all noticed it; Leia turned a pale, worried look to Rieekan, and he cleared his throat.

"Is anyone hurt?" he asked.

"Ya sound injured, Dan, that's what he's saying." Kell said, more callous than Rieekan dared to be.

"Only from the ghastly emotional toll," she answered after a moment.

Kell fell silent, his face falling. Leia closed her eyes – she imagined being out in that space, surrounded by splintered fragments of home, and she shivered, letting Luke pull her a little closer. Over to her left, Dodonna cleared his throat quickly, hastily leaning forward.

"We hadn't expected contact unless there was an emergency, General," he said, heavily hinting that they should get to the point.

"…not….emer…cy…" came Han's scrambled reply.

Taskeen hurriedly started messing with the console, trying to straighten out the connection – when he did, Han was still talking quickly.

" – can't maintain contact with the vessel for longer'n a minute or two, two's been the longest," he reported.

"What vessel?" Rieekan asked.

"General, we lost you for a minute," Mon Mothma said at the same time.

The connection seemed troubled again, and then Han spoke up.

"I said, it's not an emergency, but I wouldn't waste time. There is a ship out here, but we can barely keep contact with it – and the area is full of pirates."

"Pirates?"

"Yeah," Han said. "Seems it's a good hide out for the galaxy's outlaws – not Imperial affiliated," he added hastily. "Haven't been bothered by 'em yet, but I took the ship out to the edge of the old planetary orbit to make contact with you – now I can't fix repairs on this ship out here on my own, or haul any survivors out on this small scout – "

"General, you said you made contact for a brief time," Dodonna broke in hurriedly, eagerness on his face. "Did the ship make a claim – is it an Alderaanian flagship?" he asked rapidly.

"Well, I don't know, describe an Alderaanian flagship," Han retorted unhelpfully. "It's a big ship."

Dodonna's eyes narrowed.

"Han," Leia snapped. "Remember that conversation we had about catching Hutts with honey?"

"No," he retorted stubbornly.

" _Think harder."_

"Have you _seen_ my track record with Hutts, Sweet – "

"General Solo," Rieekan interrupted swiftly. "Did you speak with anyone aboard the distressed ship?"

"Briefly," Han said, almost evasively.

"And?" Dodonna prompted, red in the face from Han's attitude.

Han was quiet for a long moment, and Leia sensed it had nothing to do with the communication system – he was just choosing his next words carefully, and that was rare for Han.

"It was brief contact, sir," Dansra broke in finally. "But the man on the other end did claim he was Viceroy Organa."

Leia's heart skipped a few beats. She looked up, her eyes flicking around to the other Alderaanians – Tyr, Kell, and finally, Rieekan, and she swallowed hard; it was no longer just a mere fuzzy signal, an absurd possibility; there was a ship in crosshairs, a voice claiming it was true.

General Rieekan hardly took a moment to breathe.

"What do you need, General Solo?" he asked sharply – matter-of-fact and business like in an instant.

"Well, if we're gonna attempt a rescue, I need a military garrison," he answered simply. "Medical, and offensive support in case any of these rogues give us trouble – flagship might not be salvageable, so we need to be able to transport anyone on it back safely."

"And we don't know what kind of condition they're in," Dansra piped up hoarsely.

Mon Mothma snapped her fingers at Kell, and he handed her a data pad. Wide awake, she began looking through it quickly, and before Rieekan could speak again, she cleared her throat, and lifted her head.

"I'm willing to divert emergency military operations to this," she said firmly. "It's more than personal benefit or a favor to the Alderaanian diaspora; Viceroy Organa was a respected leader and key figure in the Old Republic and under the Empire. Princes Leia," she said, her dark eyes neutral. "It's your call."

Leia parted her lips, holding Mon Mothma's gaze for the barest moment – this time, her decision wasn't so self-sacrificing and level-headed. She took a moment to note Luke's comforting hand on her shoulder, and nodded curtly.

"Authorize a rescue operation," she ordered hoarsely.

General Dodonna leaned forward before Rieekan could _blink_.

"Solo, I'll take a detachment and the rest of Rogue Squadron and rendezvous with you at a coordinated point just outside of the former Alderaanian orbit," he said assertively, immediately assuming command of the mission. We can coordinate more appropriately when my team arrives."

"…might…..ust….fine," came Han's garbled reply, and Leia felt tense and relieved all at once – relieved there was a plan, tense because of – everything else.

She closed her eyes lightly, swallowing the reckless words that came to her lips – she couldn't go with them; she shouldn't. There would be political chaos to handle back here, and to return to that site, the site of Alderaan's destruction, the realm where the Death Star had hovered in her darkest hours – no; she couldn't volunteer to go, but she wondered why Rieekan didn't.

Han's connection spluttered, and Taskeen swore under his breath.

"I'm going to lose this connection; it's too tenuous," he remarked.

"…dezvous….gest…" Han was asking.

Dodonna thought about it for a moment.

"Laurensia Outpost," Leia suggested abruptly. "It's an hour hyperjump from Alderaan. Fueling, repairs, nothing more – and you'll stay under the radar," she suggested.

Laurensia Outpost had been a flourishing vacation spot when Leia was a child, but she knew since Alderaan's end it had deteriorated into nothing more than a ghost town. With most of its old patrons dead and gone, it had started to waste away, turn into one of those forgotten places where forgotten people dwelt.

"Keep trying to hold contact with the flagship, General Solo," Dodonna ordered. "Any information is valuable – we can go over further contingency plans when I arrive with reinforcements."

This time, when Han spoke, it was just static.

"We'll leave immediately," Dodonna said, making a fair guess at what the question was.

 _Crackle – hum._

Leia reached up and gripped Luke's hand lightly, her eyes on the communication unit. After a moment, it sputtered to life again, and Han said:

"I read you, General. We'll hold down the fort," he agreed.

"Over and out, Solo," Dodonna said curtly. He drew his hand across his neck, and Taskeen cut the connection as Rieekan said:

"Jan, for Gods' sake – "

"What?" Dodonna asked, taken aback. "The connection was straining," he said.

Rieekan made a curt gesture to Leia.

"The Princess might have had something else to say," he reprimanded edgily.

Dodonna looked considerably mollified.

"Your Highness I – I didn't even consider," he said abruptly, inclining his head. "I'm – of course you might have – did you?"

Leia arched an eyebrow at him; no, she hadn't, though she had enjoyed listening to Han's voice. She simply shook her head, though, and answered, rather mysteriously:

"Nothing I'd particularly care for you to hear."

Dodonna nodded, relieved, then paused, scrutinized her suspiciously for a moment, and decided it was best if he just stiffly turn away. Rieekan, Leia noticed, as she turned to him, had a gleeful look on his face, and she found herself both touched and exasperated. It was infinitely comforting to know Rieekan had no qualms about her relationship with Han, but his almost boyish delight in driving the others up the wall about it perplexed her.

"You didn't volunteer," she remarked softly – Dodonna had drawn Luke aside, speaking rapidly to him. Vaguely, Leia remembered that Luke was still commander of the Rogue Squadron.

Rieekan lifted his shoulder halfheartedly.

"I heard the pain in Dansra's voice," he admitted quietly. "I'll serve better here – you and I can head up media inquiries," he noted.

"Media," Leia murmured, as Mon Mothma approached.

"I know it's late, Leia," she said warmly. "But I think it best we start devising strategies for announcements – press releases and whatnot."

Leia nodded. She compressed her lips hesitantly, her head spinning slightly.

"I don't think it's – prudent to make grandiose announcements," she began, and Mon Mothma nodded quickly.

"There won't be any such thing until – unless – General Solo, while on his way back, confirms that he has survivors, and confirms their identities," she said, her voice shaking a bit – clearly, Mon Mothma hadn't quite let herself believe this would be a reality, either, and it was startling her, as well. "We can get together a committee, work to notify the Alderaanian diaspora," she said, her fingers floating over her data pad. "Tentatively discuss what kind of ceremony we might have in welcome."

There was hope in Mon Mothma's voice – even girlish excitement, and not only did it remind Leia that Mon Mothma had been an extremely close, trusted friend of her father's, it daunted her, because if Mon Mothma could start to view this as a reality instead of some – hoax, some unimaginable miracle, then Leia could make that leap, too, and this – this was such a very big thing to consider, to really have to cope with –

It was Luke who caught her arm, drawing her aside slightly, though she felt Rieekan and Mon Mothma looking at her.

"Are you alright?" Luke asked quietly, holding her hands in his.

His touch calmed her down; he offered encouraging, soothing words to her through their connection and though she appreciated it, she suddenly fiercely wished she had this kind of ethereal, intransient connection to Han, because that's who she really wanted right now.

Luke gave her a lopsided grin.

"I can do my Han impression if you like – Threepio thinks its spot on," he joked.

Leia smiled faintly; he felt their connection instantly sever, and he tried not to take it too personally. He squeezed her hands again, and tilted his head.

"Chewbacca's the closest you've got," he suggested, arching a brow pointedly – and she nodded, gripping his hands, because that seemed like a good idea – before she got into the thick of this, of _believing_ , of starting to really _hope_ , because now she had the good foundation for _logical_ hope that had seemed so elusive – before all that, she needed a moment to breathe, to herself, to contemplate the magnitude of what might come of this – and the best place to do that was away from prying eyes on the _Falcon_ , with Chewie's always comforting flower tea, and his equally comforting murmurs.

Leia caught Luke's eye, and nodded; she told Mon Mothma she'd convene with her in two hours, and she excused herself with her brother, seeking some time away from the charged atmosphere at the Alderaanian consulate to figure out how she was going to armor herself for the impending maelstrom.

* * *

 _okay, note - since I mentioned Threepio in this chapter, I should explain why the droids apparently don't exist in this fic: it's because i literally completely forgot to include them. no one has pointed this out, so I assume you all don't mind. they might come up later in a by-the-way VADER BUILT THREEPIO sort of way, but ... i ... i'm sorry, i'm an airhead. i genuinely didn't even think about them._

 _-alexandra_


	10. Nine

_a/n:_ _Laurensia Outpost is mine. also, more Dansra! More Han-learning-things-about-Alderaan (that I, to my knowledge, made up)._

* * *

 ** _Nine_**

* * *

Laurensia Outpost was as good a place as any to wait for General Dodonna. It was a distinctly different sort of place than the usual seedy, no-man's land kind of places outposts usually were. Dansra said it was because Laurensia was once a thriving vacation spot for Alderaanians, and while the elegance and attraction had quickly deteriorated since Alderaan had gone, it still looked, on the surface, like a lovely place to be.

Inside the bars and shops though, it was as murky and questionable as any sandy old Tatooine hideout.

Sitting in a shadowy corner both killing time, Han was struck grimly by how – out of place he felt here. Not too long ago, he'd frequented places like this; he'd reveled in dark corners, hiding from one crime lord or another, picking up illegal jobs, living life on the edge – hell, five years ago he'd have been careless of his surroundings in a place like this, because he'd have been so cocksure in his ability to fend off an aggressor.

He was still confident in his ability to win a fight, but he noted a distinct absence of the itch to start one he'd sometimes used to get – and on top of that, he eyed the patrons of the place with caution and suspicion, instead of a sort of tacit comradery. It had been so long since he'd lounged around one of these places that he hadn't realized how truly far he'd come from the smuggler he used to be.

Realizing he was out of place was eye-opening, but the real kick was how little he cared, and how little he missed that life. He'd had his fun, he had his good times, and he'd had a hell of a youth, but all that was nothing compared to the feeling of peace and purpose he had these days – and much as he'd valued his bachelorhood, with no one but Chewbacca to consider, he didn't even want to imagine his life without Leia.

As he scanned the inside of the building, he took careful note of where each of his crew were – Darklighter, with a drink by the bar, Antilles, chatting up a pair of girls with turquoise skin and red hair, Dansra –

Han sat forward slightly, having lost sight of the woman. The moment didn't last, though; her form appeared in front of him. She sat down comfortably across from him and slid him a mug of some kind of ale, smiling wryly.

"Antilles says I'm affecting his ability to pick up women, and Darklighter is only capable of talking about womp rats," she said. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me. I bought you a drink to ease the burden of that, but you're free to continue brooding if you like."

Han reached out and took the handle of the mug, giving her a look.

"'M not _brooding_ ," he muttered gruffly.

Dansra snorted.

"Your brood is famous, didn't you know?"

Han looked at her dubiously.

"Do I even want to know?" he asked dryly.

Dansra whistled.

"There's a photo of you seated by Princess Leia at one of the speeches she gave, a few months ago," she told him gleefully, "and in it, you've got a spectacularly bored – or maybe irritated – look on your face. Holo net seventeen calls it the award winning brood."

Han glared at her as if the incident were her fault alone, and peered into the drink she'd offered, slightly suspicious.

"What is this?"

"The barkeep claims its Aldera Ale," Dansra said skeptically. "It's too dark for Aldera ale. It's about as Alderaanian as the fabrics in the stalls outside, which the sellers are claiming are true Alderaanian silks." Dansra shook her head ruefully. "The whole place is counterfeiting my culture for credits – revolting."

She said it with a wistful sigh, but with overall energy – again, Dansra and her energy.

Han, not really interested in alcohol that wasn't some type of whiskey – preferably Corellian – looked at her intently for a moment, and then narrowed his eyes with interest.

"How d'you do that?" he asked abruptly. Shrugging, he went on: "Just talk about Alderaan so… _happily_." He didn't mean to sound critical, but he winced, because he realized he might have – but the thing was, the only Alderaanians he knew closely were Rieekan and Leia, and the former referenced Alderaan with heaviness when he had to; the latter could barely speak about her home at all.

Dansra considered him a moment, and then shrugged.

"Well, I have to, "she said frankly.

"Have to?" he quoted skeptically.

"It's either be as upbeat as possible, or walk around in a constant state of – well," she flushed slightly, looking down at her mug, "like I was when we entered the system," she muttered.

Han cleared his throat, respectfully not saying anything. Though Dansra had, in her optimistic, almost bubbly way, mentioned several times she expected to have some sort of meltdown when they saw the remains of Alderaan, Han hadn't exactly been prepared for it to actually happen. He supposed it had been a natural reaction; she'd been unable to stop crying for quite a while, and Antilles had ended up locking her in the cabin so she couldn't catch sight of the viewport.

She hadn't referenced the episode since they'd removed themselves to Laurensia to wait for the military support.

Dansra shrugged.

"There's nothing I can do about what happened to Alderaan," she said tightly. "I just have to accept it. I do that. Head on. It helps."

Without thinking, Han asked:

"Could you teach someone else to do that?"

Dansra smiled at him wryly.

"People are different, Solo," she said evasively. "I'm not Princess Leia. It's different."

He nodded, leaning back heavily – he was just trying to figure out ways to help Leia. There was only so much he could do, being Corellian, having such a different background, not really understanding all she'd been through – not from a personal point, at least. The only area in which he came close was the torture – he'd been tortured on Bespin, but it was nothing compared to what she'd suffered.

Han cleared his throat, taking note of where Antilles and Darklighter were again.

"Tell me about Alderaan," he said gruffly.

Dansra rested her chin on her palm and took a drink of ale. She immediately made a face, pushed the drink away, and shook her head suspiciously.

"Definitely not Aldera Ale," she muttered, and then fixed her eyes on him. "What do you want to know?"

The question stumped him – what _did_ he want to know? It wasn't as if he could use the information to impress Leia; she didn't talk about Alderaan. Although – that might change now, and maybe that was driving his interest. He didn't want to feel clueless among a hoard of important people from her planet.

Dansra misinterpreted his silence, and smirked at him wryly.

"About our marriage customs?" she asked.

Han's eyes narrowed.

"What gave you that idea?" he asked sharply.

Dansra laughed simply.

"Men," she lamented, "are endlessly careless – you didn't clear your last search on the datapad before you gave it to me to map the coordinates for Laurensia," she told him frankly. "You were searching what stones we use in our rings."

Han glared at her balefully, muttering under his breath, but he was caught – and instead of denying it, or changing the subject, he said:

"Couldn't find an answer."

"Because we don't use rings," Dansra said quickly. "Ah," she amended. "Well – the royal hierarchy often did, depending on who was married to what foreign house," she noted, thinking about it. "But in general, culturally and between Alderaanians, rings weren't our tradition."

"Saw somethin' about necklaces," Han said.

"You'd do better to simply ask an Alderaanian," Dansra said simply. "Though I guess you'd rather eat sand than ask General Rieekan that question – the gist is, the man has a necklace made for the intended bride. There's quite a bit of leeway in design; the only caveats are it must be white gold, and it must be a single chain and a single pendent," she said matter-of-factly. "The gem chosen most often represents the birthstone of the bride. When it's presented, the woman accepts it, but the man has to fasten it on at the wedding."

Han stared at her and, after a moment, raised a brow. Dansra grinned.

"I knew plenty of Alderaanian woman who had rings as well, as that's sort of galaxy wide," she laughed. "But between Alderaanians, the necklace was important."

Han looked somewhat uncertain.

"How can anyone tell the difference between that kind of necklace and any old necklace?" he asked pointedly.

He'd seen Leia wear jewelry before, even single strand, single pendant necklaces – all kinds of gems, for galas and dinners and the like.

"Ah," Dansra sighed. She held up her hands like she was holding an unclasped necklace. "That's the trick. The clasp is made to look like a knot, so that when its fastened, it looks like it's impossible to get off. Some women had theirs fused, so it never came off. My mother did. On either side of the clasp, there are small – very small – oval plates; one side with her initials, one side with yours – uh, his," she said hastily, not wanting to be presumptuous.

"Fused on? What if they split up?"

Dansra shrugged.

"Alderaanians didn't really get divorced. Of course it was legal and not necessarily frowned upon, but the people are so thoughtful and so keen on compromise and peace that marriages had remarkable staying power, more remarkable than on other planets."

"Men?" Han grunted. "They wear...necklaces?" He grimaced slightly; the word was so...feminine.

"Hmm," Dansra murmured. She gestured at her neck lightly. "It's subtle, usually a thin chain - Viceroy Organa will probably have his on. No ornament; same clasp." She smiled a little dejectedly. "Not many artists left who can construct that kind of clasp, though," she remarked.

Han tried to envision the kind of thing she was talking about, and felt he got the general idea. Her last words though – he kept being constantly reminded of just how devastating Alderaan's loss really was, how not only was the planet gone, it was desperately difficult to keep the art, the language, the culture – all of that – going forward when so many secrets of their world had perished on the spot.

Corellians were not unique with engagements, not out of the ordinary; there were rings, and there were vows. When he'd asked Leia to marry him on Corellia, that was the kind of thing he envisioned – vaguely, when he did envision it. He wasn't sure what she was thinking when she agreed; he should have asked.

The world had just been so hectic since then, and he thought deep down, both of them knew they'd never been ready to get married so immediately; still, the understanding was there – it still was for him, and he sensed it still was for her.

He made a mental note to reach out to Lando and see about combing through their old contacts to investigate where someone who could make that kind of jewelry might be lurking.

"Are you going to ask her highness to marry you?" Dansra asked bluntly.

Han very pointedly did not answer. He cleared his throat, and changed the subject immediately.

"What can you tell me about Bail Organa?" he asked gruffly.

Dansra tilted her head side to side.

"Like I said, I didn't know him – and I traveled off planet quite a lot," she answered hesitantly. "I was serious when I said I was bad at history, at knowing my home. Never appreciated what I had until it was gone."

Han nodded, but amended his question.

"What'd you think of him from a commoner's point of view?" he asked. He smirked a little ruefully. "Seein' as that's what I am, in that kind of world."

Dansra leaned forward on her elbows, thinking about it.

"He was," she started, clearly wracking her brains – she'd been twenty when Alderaan was destroyed; she'd been eighteen when she started to care for politics at all. She asked herself what her feelings were, and she tried to remember how her family had felt, what she'd heard. "I have to admit some of what I'm saying may be biased based on what I've read and studied since then," she began fairly, licking her lips. "He was…fair," she decided.

She paused again.

"Fair," she described. "Honorable. Bold," she bit her lip, selecting her words carefully. "Intimidating, but not in a bad way. He demanded respect, I would say, but he also respected others. He was proud, very proud, and formidable. And it goes without saying that he was very brave. He stood up to the Empire from the beginning."

Han smiled a little – in short, he sounded like Leia. Or perhaps Leia was like her father – either way, it was clear that adoptive father or not, he'd passed on his most admirable traits to his daughter.

"I can't tell you if he's going to like you, though," Dansra said, grinning smugly. "I'm not a psychic. The Alderaanian rulers usually married other high-ranking Alderaanians, and those who didn't inherit usually married foreign royals. They were usually not arranged, but often strategically chosen by the individuals involved. I don't know if the Viceroy would consider you an outrage or a slightly shocking quirk."

''M not worried about him liking me," Han retorted, blustering slightly – it was at least half true; he was past the age where he particularly cared if others _liked_ him.

Dansra arched her brows, and Han shrugged.

"Matters more if Leia likes me."

"So you'd make her choose between her father and you?" Dansra asked skeptically.

"No, I wouldn't," Han said flatly. "'Cause that would piss her off and disrespect her." He narrowed his eyes at Dansra. "And from what you described, Viceroy Organa doesn't seem like the type to do that to her, either," he pointed out edgily.

Dansra smiled a little. She brought a nail to her mouth and chewed on the edge of it thoughtfully, nodding quietly. She shot a look over her shoulder at the other guys, falling silent, letting the conversation die. After a moment, she turned back, her expression guarded.

"From a military standpoint, how are you feeling about all this?" she asked quietly.

Han tilted his head to the side.

"Meaning…?"

"Do you think we have a chance of rescuing this ship?" Dansra asked, point-blank. "There's so much chaos in the system, and I guess there's still a chance that it's a big set up – "

Han cleared his throat, leaning forward as he interrupted her.

"I think we'll be able to do somethin'," he said. "Don't know if that's haul the ship out, or haul some people out," he said evenly. "I think if it was a hoax, we'd already be dead."

"Not if they anticipated you calling in the military, assumed the best of our heads would be sent, and wanted to take out all major leadership," Dansra pointed out sharply. "You said yourself Dodonna's bringing Commander Skywalker. I can't believe Princess Leia herself didn't accompany them."

Han ignored that, but frowned slightly.

"You're starting to sound like Leia," he said dryly.

Dansra shrugged half-heartedly.

"The closer I get to seeing some of my people again, the more unbelievable it seems," she confessed quietly.

Han figured that made sense. She was on the precipice of a miracle, and that made it seem impossible to grasp. He offered her an encouraging smile, and leaned back, summoning some of that infamous Solo bravado.

"Don't worry about it, kid," he said easily. "I've never met odds I couldn't beat."

He smirked roguishly – his words were for her, but he was thinking of Leia, and the sliver of brightness that might come back into her world if they could bring this mission to fruition.

* * *

Lingering in space somewhere just outside the Alderaanian system, Han stood by a round table in the stateroom of one of the New Republic's military ships. His arms folded, and his vest hanging over a chair behind him, he listened to Dodonna speak.

"Based on what you've said – General Solo, Antilles," Dodonna went on gruffly, drawing his finger along the table, "it's best to approach broadcasting a friendly signal, on the off chance it can be received – but to board the ship with military precision."

"Board it?" Gavin Darklighter asked.

"I think there's little chance of us getting the stranded state ship to fly," Dodonna said frankly, "and despite General Solo's skill in emergency repairs, we're more concerned with getting out of the system and back to Coruscant – there's plenty of room on this ship to board additional passengers."

"But sir," spoke up one of Dodonna's lieutenants. "There could be hundreds of people on a flagship of that size – Princess Leia's flagship had a crew of over four hundred."

Dodonna shared a grim look with Han, and Han cleared his throat.

"With their communications as disabled as they are and, uh, the length of time they've been stranded – not to mention the state of the space around them," he paused, aware of Dansra in the room.

"We're not expecting to find the full original crew present," Luke spoke up, almost apologetically. "Grand state ships like this can sustain life for quite a while, true, but five years on rations, with possible other problems…"

He trailed off, and Dodonna's lieutenant closed his mouth. Nothing more needed to be said, but Han was glad the people in the room were at least aware that there was a possibility that they were preparing to board a ship full of – well, corpses.

"Docking this ship to the stranded ship might be difficult, and coordinating space walks to get all the survivors on board is going to be tedious and dangerous," Luke said heavily. "We need everyone in good form – I'll be leading the Rogue Squadron in defensive maneuvers," he, gesturing at Antilles and Darklighter, as well as the rest of the team who'd arrived with Dodonna. "We'll be guarding against the pirates Han reported, or any other threats that appear in the area."

"And before commencing the rescue, we'll verify that anyone on board is who they say they are – I can easily identify Viceroy Organa," Dodonna said, "but even so, we'll use security questions, and take any high ranking individuals to immediate blood testing in the emergency medical bay."

Dodonna paused a moment, and stood straighter, folding his arms.

"This operation is going to commence tomorrow at standard seven hour – any questions from commanders?"

There was a chorus of murmurs – no; they were all clear.

Dodonna nodded.

"Good – distribute the requisite information to your command teams, and get in the right mindset for what we're facing in the system tomorrow," he ordered. "Dismissed."

The captains and lieutenant colonels who had been a part of the officer briefing dispersed, and when they were alone – well, when the company had dwindled to Dodonna, Han, and Luke, with some of the others lingering just outside the door, Han cleared his throat, leaning forward on the table.

"What's this new information you've got from Taskeen?" he asked gruffly. "This – equation?"

"Ah," mumbled Dodonna tensely, scratching his chin. "It's – gibberish to me," he sighed, glancing at Luke. Luke stepped forward, and took a datapad, pulling up what Han was asking about.

"I don't understand it from a technical standpoint, but I get the gist," he said, handing over the pad to Han – for all he cared, it could have been written in ancient Mustafarian runes. It was too complex for his sensibilities, and he grimaced.

"The physicists haven't stopped exploring why this could have happened," Luke went on. "And while the original White Hole presumption is still the most plausible, one of the more theoretical scientists proposed that such a large disruption in the fabric of the universe – the fabric which, if you're a believer, is governed by the Force – could have suspended the ship in some sort of wormhole, or time warp."

Han snorted.

"An alternate reality?" he asked skeptically.

"That's what I asked," Dodonna muttered grudgingly.

"Great minds think alike, _Gen'ral_ ," Han retorted, unable to resist the urge to rib the other man slightly – Leia wasn't around to restrain him with a soft hand, so he milked it a little.

Dodonna gave him an annoyed look, and Luke spoke over them.

"Nothing cinematic," he said hastily. "It just means - it could explain why they survived the time against such odds, and it might mean disorientation once we rescue them."

"Disorientation," Han quoted hesitantly.

"They might not know what year it is," Dodonna said.

"Oh," Han said flippantly. He shrugged. "Hell, even if there was no," he waved his hand wildly, "Force issue," he decided lamely, "I figured they'd have lost track of time at some point. Fried systems, going mad all trapped and isolated," he said. He shrugged again. "All it takes is one day forgetting to make a mark or record a date and," he whistled, "suddenly they're off by a year."

Dodonna considered him with interest.

"Hmmm," he mumbled after a moment. "I suppose that's correct," he agreed, frowning to himself thoughtfully.

He sighed after a moment, and folded his arms.

"My main concern is being able to get any survivors from that ship to this ship without issue – space walks can be nerve-wracking, and in this system…" he trailed off, shaking his head tiredly. "I can't imagine finding Bail Organa alive only to have him killed by debris while I try to take him home," he said haggardly.

Luke glanced at Han, his face taut – Han felt some of his animosity towards Dodonna fade; this was a big responsibility, for them all, and Han didn't want to be the one to tell Leia her father had survived against all odds just to be pulverized right on the brink of a reunion with her, either. Han looked back at Luke for a minute, and then cleared his throat.

"Y'know, kid, might be a good idea for you to hand command of the Rogues over to Antilles," he suggested.

Dodonna looked at them sharply.

"Now's no time to be experimenting with command," he said warily. "Luke, when you leave to focus on the Jedi, we'll gladly allow it, but right now – "

"I don't think Han's talking about an experiment," Luke interrupted slowly. "Han?"

Han nodded at Luke.

"Wedge is more than capable of defending the perimeter," he said flatly. "What you're gonna need during a dangerous space walk with people who might be half-crazed and suspicious is someone whose got his magic tricks."

Luke glared at Han; Han smirked.

Dodonna looked over at Luke with a new light in his eyes.

" _Kest_ – of course," he swore. "Why didn't I think of that?" He narrowed his eyes. "I wouldn't want to snatch away your command, Luke, but if you were on the deck and on the ropes with us instead of circling the ship," he stopped, and waited.

Luke grinned a little.

"I can't fend off any asteroids hurtling towards us, but I can be a steadying hand," he said confidently. "I'll talk to Wedge, see if he's good with the change," Luke paused, and then shook his head. "Who am I kidding?" he muttered to himself good-naturedly, giving both Dodonna and Han a friendly nod as he excused himself from the room – leaving the two Generals alone at the stateroom bridge.

There wasn't much else to be done, and even before the issue of the Princess had slightly driven a wedge between the two of them, Han hadn't been best buddies with Jan Dodonna – cordial, yes, and friendly with – but he didn't share the kind of comradery he had with say, Lando Calrissian – or even Rieekan.

He cleared his throat anyway, and stood straighter, folding his arms.

"How was Leia handling this?" he asked bluntly.

Dodonna looked at him carefully, and Han returned his gaze unabashed. It was a fair question, and he'd rather appear concerned about Leia than indifferent to her, because it seemed Dodonna was going to disapprove of it no matter what. The General cleared set his shoulders back and composed his features guardedly.

"With her usual grace," he answered. He paused. "Surely you've spoken with her," he added, with a barely discernible sort of sneer.

Han shrugged.

"Radio silence applied to personal relationships, too," he pointed out.

Dodonna nodded, looking at him silently. He sighed.

"Her highness handles everything with a level head," he said, elaborating a bit more. "She and Mon Mothma were organizing the public outreach on the issue – I think you know as well as I do that Princess Leia has a particular skill at remaining unfazed by everything around her," he added, almost critically.

Without thinking, Han gave him a sour smile.

"You don't know her half as well as you think you do," he said shortly.

He said it partly because he didn't have a chance to censor himself, and partly because Dodonna came dangerously close to sounding like those people who implied Leia was a heartless, soulless politician who never showed enough emotion about her losses because she simply didn't have the emotion to show. He lashed out because – because if the world was privy to half of the emotions Leia dealt with on a nightly basis, they'd crack under the pressure.

Dodonna stiffened, affronted.

"I've known the Princess since she was in her early teens – "

"Yeah, the Princess," Han interrupted. "Not the woman."

"I don't think I like your implication," Dodonna said, flushing.

"Then get your head out of the gutter, General," Han snapped. "I'm not implyin' anything. She gets enough hell from the public, you know."

Dodonna bristled again.

"I am not 'giving her hell'," he quoted. "You'd do well to watch yourself, General – "

"You don't outrank me, _General_ ," Han fired back simply. "Not anymore. I don't care if you have a problem with me, even if it's come out of nowhere – "

"You know damn well where it's come from, Solo, we trusted you with Princess Leia – "

"Yeah, well, she's not a product, she doesn't belong to this government," he barked. "She's always liked you, Jan, she's always respected you, Mon Mothma, the other members of the leadership," he said tensely. "You aren't _protecting_ her when you treat her like she can't make her own choices. You're insulting her, and everything she's ever done for you and for the Rebellion."

Dodonna did not respond. He looked away from Han, staring down at the table in front of him. After a moment, he swallowed hard, unclenching his jaw, and looking back at Han with a different expression; less insulted, more unreadable. He cleared his throat.

"Well, that's quite a speech, General Solo," he said quietly.

Han expected to be upbraided, but Dodonna didn't say anything else. Instead, he straightened his uniform, and inclined his head, wordlessly excusing himself. That is, he seemed to be intent on a wordless exit, until he turned around at the door and gave Han an intent look, narrowing his eyes.

"I wonder if you're prepared to give the same speech to her father," he remarked.

Han glared at him narrowly, but chose not to lash out at that comment – he folded his arms stubbornly, and allowed Dodonna to leave the room with the last word. Only when he was alone did he grit his teeth and strike a fist against the table in front of them – he hadn't intended to pick a fight, but he didn't regret it, and regardless of what Dodonna wanted to think, his main concern when it came to Bail Organa wasn't _courtship_ , it was Leia, and the deeply buried fears he knew she had about seeing him again.

* * *

In some ways, the execution of the rescue mission was better and worse than they had expected and planned. The Rogue Squadron ran into no trouble patrolling the area for Pirates or residual Imperial presence, and the Space was exactly as unstable as predicted, so the prepared plan for Space Walks was adequate. Still, tensions were running so high that it all somehow felt like the bloodiest of battles.

General Dodonna was in command of the New Republic ship; he took care of receiving the survivors – and there were survivors. Against all odds, against any rational thinking or natural phenomenon, this stranded Alderaanian flagship was harboring over a hundred natives of the planet – though Han suspected there would have been more if they'd been found earlier.

Han, accompanied by Dansra, who was capable of speaking Alderaanian to both comfort and bridge trust, was in charge of vetting the Alderaanians and sending them along with Luke and the other enlisted men to be carted away to medical – the process was painstaking; it took precision, and attention to detail, and what impressed Han the most was that now, at the last, with most of the survivors safely away from the stranded flagship, he came upon two women, and the Viceroy himself – Bail Organa had refused to leave the ship until all of his people were safely spirited away.

Dansra spoke first, urgently.

"It's protocol for your identities to be verified before we carry you off," she repeated again, as she'd said to any other high ranking officials they'd found – there had been eighteen so far, government members, more radical members of an underground Alderaanian society that worked with the Rebellion.

Han had been satisfied with their identities, though one hadn't been in the files he'd reviewed, so he had to ask Dodonna if the name was familiar, and then he'd sent the man along.

"I'm Winter Retrac," one of the women said – Han had recognized her from the picture in her file almost immediately.

"You look like her," Dansra agreed. "General Solo?"

He glanced at his datapad.

"Who was the Alderaanian Minister of Agriculture when Deara Antilles was imprisoned?"

"Valkin Aveeno," Winter Retrac answered softly, without hesitation.

Dansra looked to Han for confirmation, shrugging a little, and he nodded, holding his hand out to Winter. The young woman took it, grasping firmly, and shot a glance back at her leader and the other woman – they both nodded, and Dansra escorted her to Luke, talking to her gently in Alderaanian.

Han cleared his throat and considered the two individuals left.

"Breha and Bail?" he guessed.

The woman swallowed hard, her face pale.

"I'm not Breha," she said. "I'm Rouge Organa."

Han faltered slightly, looking down – he felt a pull in his chest; he'd been sure, when this woman insisted on staying back, as well, that it was Leia's adoptive mother, and if she wasn't – well, that was someone he really would have wanted to see Leia reunited with. He gave no indication of his disappointment, and quickly pulled up Rouge Organa, sister to Bail Organa's, file. There was no picture with hers, but the woman in front of him did have the same olive skin that Bail and his wife both had. He cleared his throat.

"How old was Leia when she had Ibaarian Measles?" he asked.

After a moment, Rouge answered.

"Four."

It was the correct answer, and Han gestured her forward.

"Dansra will take you to the bridge and suit you up – Commander Skywalker will escort you to the waiting ship," he said gruffly.

She clutched his hand, wide brown eyes shimmering.

"We never thought this would happen," she said. "We thought – we'd be stranded – it's miraculous," she stammered.

Dansra approached, smiling encouragingly, and Han nodded, squeezing the hand back quickly.

"Didn't think we'd find something like this either, Miss – uh," he broke off, and Dansra, under her breath, fed him the proper title. "Lady Rouge."

She thanked him again, letting Dansra take her over to the hold, and Han wasted no time in turning to the Viceroy who, though he was disheveled, thin, pale, and obviously brow-beaten, managed to look extremely regal and controlled all the same.

"Provide your question, General," he said calmly.

Han couldn't help a small grin.

"How old was Leia when she dropped a water balloon on Grand Moff Tarkin's head?"

"Thirteen," came the gruff answer. "He wasn't a Grand Moff at the time; he was promoted two months later. My daughter insisted she was watering her plants. Apparently from a third floor balcony fourteen rooms away from said plants."

Han gave a big grin at that, and appreciated the Viceroy's surprising ability to be humorous under such dire, hopeless circumstances. He tucked his datapad away, and nodded, reaching out his hand in a formal gesture of greeting.

"Viceroy," he said gruffly. "Again – General Solo; New Republic," he greeted.

Bail Organa had a firm handshake, but he only gave Han a grim look.

"I'll be more grateful when I'm standing with my people on that rescue vessel and I can view the future with some hope again," he told him frankly.

Han was on the verge of telling him he sounded just like his daughter, with his lack-of-hope-until-after-the-fact-philosophy, but Dansra appeared with Luke at her heels, her face strained.

"Dodonna's worried if we wait any longer the connection between ships will destabilize," she said.

"Let's move, Viceroy," Han said, straightening up. He ushered Leia's father towards Luke, and Organa stopped, staring at the young man.

"Luke Skywalker," he murmured, his eyes widening slightly.

Luke inclined his head respectfully, his brows furrowing slightly.

"You recognize me?" He asked - Bail Organa had heard that Luke Skywalker was helping with the rescue, but to know him on sight? Had he known far more about him than Ben Kenobi let on.

The Viceroy looked at him intently, his eyes unreadable.

"You have your father's eyes," he said, very quietly.

Han watched Luke's face change, watched the curiosity, the awe, the excitement - but the statement only gave Han chills, because Luke had grown up with an Uncle; there was no chance Bail was talking about anyone other than Vader, and, and the image of a pair of kind, blue eyes hidden behind that black mask was unnerving.

"I'll get you across the spacewalk safely, sir," he assured him.

"My – sister, and Winter?" Organa began to ask, as Luke led him off.

"Safely aboard."

Luke started a conversation, and Han checked the area before he started away, noticing Dansra hadn't followed him after he was halfway down the hall to the open bridge. He turned, and noticed her standing with her head bowed. He waited a moment, and then cleared his throat.

"Dansra," he started, firm, but without reprimand.

She turned slowly, and looked around.

"You know the flagships of planets are considered the soil of their origin planet," she said tightly, her eyes shimmering. "All laws, all customs of a planet – they apply on the ship. Like it was a city. An extension of the world."

Silently, Han nodded. She took a deep breath.

"So, this is the last time I'll ever set foot on Alderaan."

He swallowed hard. They had decided the ship was unsalvageable - and any hope they had of getting artifacts or native things of the planet to take back were obliterated as they'd boarded and explored; things had been so depleted as the stranded occupants struggled to survive with increasingly little supplies, there was almost nothing left.

"There's the Embassy, Dansra," he offered, thinking of Leia's office in Coruscant, her work with the council.

She nodded, but he could tell there was something different about this place. He waited a beat longer, and then called her name again, urgently – without a word, she turned and hurried over to him. He took her elbow to hurry her along, but he gave it a steadying squeeze to offer silent comfort – and together, they began to suit up to follow Luke and the Viceroy to safety.

The quiet chaos they found when they arrived back on the New Republic military vessel was to be expected; Luke had already mentioned that most of the Alderaanians, after setting foot upon truly safe terrain and starting to realize they were going to be okay, had gone into varying states of shock and confusion – and as they began to seal up the ship and get out of their EV suits, Han was not surprised that even the highest ranking members were affected.

Bail Organa was holding onto Dodonna's shoulders like his life depended on it.

"….' _New Republic'_ , for the sake of the Gods, how long has it been?" he demanded, eyes wild. "Who is in charge? Who's alive?"

"We left the planet – we hadn't even gotten too far from the atmosphere, revving for the hyperspace jump when the explosion happened – we haven't had contact with _anyone_ – " Winter Retrac was clinging to Luke, talking rapidly, and Rouge Organa stood next to her, refusing to be dragged to the medical bay by an ensign.

"The whole planet?" she gasped. "The whole planet, gone? Eradicated? The _whole planet_?" she kept repeating it.

Bail Organa turned around.

"Rouge, allow them to take you to medical – cooperate!" he ordered.

He leaned heavily against the wall, turning from Dodonna, shaking his head.

"The explosion did something terrible to the space around us, caught us mid-jump. We guessed what must have happened - but she wouldn't accept it, no matter how long we were there, no matter how many times we managed to hear news," Organa said hoarsely.

"Bail," Dodonna said carefully.

The Viceroy stood up again, pressing his hand to his temple. Rouge, finally persuaded to go with the ensign, left the room, and Luke had managed to quiet Winter, who pulled away from him, and stepped towards Han.

"You led the scout mission that saved us?" she asked. "A General of the New Republic?" she went on rapidly – fiercely. "The Empire's gone?" she asked, her eyes searching frantically. "Darth Vader?"

Han rubbed the back of his neck tensely, sharing a glance with both Luke and Dodonna – somehow, despite expecting the Alderaanians to be disoriented, they hadn't truly considered the extent of it. He cleared his throat, and nodded.

"He's dead," Han assured her. "I saw the body burn."

Winter Retrac covered her mouth and closed her eyes; she murmured something in a burst of Alderaanian, and sat down on the floor. Bail gave her a sympathetic look, and then glanced between them all.

"The ship – communications broke down gradually, occasionally worked when electromagnetism went in our favor," he said. "We were trapped in – on the edge of hyperspace, almost – time seemed to freeze," he went on rapidly. His brow furrowed, he shook his head. "The plans, then, Leia got the plans to the Rebellion?" he asked.

Luke shared a particularly strained look with Han, but it was Dodonna who cleared his throat.

"There are people who can brief you better on the science of this on Coruscant," he said. "Bail – the question is, what were you doing leaving the planet? You, Lady Rouge, Miss Retrac – "

Bail took a harrowing breath.

"We intended to alert the Senate and then join you, Jan, on Yavin, to be sure we could find out for ourselves what happened – one way or another, we were going to kick start a tangible resistance, and we needed proof, proof that," he paused, his face falling grimly. "Breha and I weren't sure Leia was killed in an _accident,"_ he said.

"We left to avenge her!" Winter cried suddenly, her eyes red. "We were going to expose what they did to her!"

"There wasn't an accident," Luke said, his face lighting up.

"We know it wasn't an accident," Winter snapped violently. "Whatever happened to her – to _Tantive IV_ – they did it – "

"You don't understand," Dodonna interrupted. "There wasn't an accident at all."

Bail Organa looked between them all, but it was Han who caught his eye – and he did it as deliberately as possible, his eyes blazing, determined to get to be the one who changed this man's life. If the Viceroy, Winter, the Alderaanians – they thought they were emerging into the world so soon after Alderaan's destruction, they had so much to learn, and so much to be shocked and awed by – they had no current information, and when he realized Bail Organa still thought his daughter was probably dead, Han relished telling him it wasn't true.

"Leia's alive," he said.

He wasn't using Leia's title, and he realized that when he saw a warning look on Dodonna's face – but Han had no intention of using these moments to inform Bail Organa of his relationship to Leia, and he sure as hell knew Jan wasn't going to. He wasn't very refined in the realm of social etiquette, but at the very least he knew better than to add _'and by the way, I'm sleeping with her.'_

Bail's face took on a new light, and he moved forward, shaking his head.

"She's alive?"

"She's alive, sir," Luke agreed earnestly. "They took her prisoner on the Death Star, but we got her out. She's alive."

"She's waiting on Coruscant," Han added simply.

Bail Organa's lips parted in shock, relief. Winter, scrambling up from the floor, gave a cry and flew to him, throwing her arms around his neck tightly – she started to cry, and Dodonna looked away, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Han assumed she expressed such familiarity towards the Viceroy because she'd been as much of a daughter to him as Leia had been – or so her file said, when it talked of the Organas fostering her.

"Leia's alive," Bail repeated – not a question, a statement of wonder.

Luke laughed, glad to brighten the moment.

"How else do you think I turned up?" he joked. "If she hadn't sent off to Obi-Wan on Tatooine – "

"Oh, Commander Skywalker," Bail said hoarsely. "You would have found yourself at the heart of this rebellion in some way or another," he said, almost mystically.

Han folded his arms without speaking, and Luke considered the leader intently.

"You and I will have a lot to discuss, Viceroy," he said mildly.

Darkly, Han thought about all of the things that Bail Organa would, indeed, have to answer for – Leia's parentage, her questions about her upbringing, her destiny – he felt guarded suddenly, unsure of this person.

Organa seemed to sense this, and he looked up at Han for a moment, studying him. He gave him a nod – a nod of thanks, or maybe a nod that suggested he'd get to him later, this mysterious general who came for him among familiar names like Dodonna and Skywalker. When Bail lifted his chin, Han saw a flash of silvery metal glinting at his neck, a thin circlet, hidden partially by the collar of his threadbare clothing; probably the necklace Dansra had mentioned. The Viceroy turned to Dodonna stiffly, comforting Winter with one hand.

"I'm almost afraid to ask," he began tightly. "How long has it been?"

Dodonna set his jaw and glanced briefly at Luke before deciding it was best to get the answer over with quickly.

"Five years."

Han carefully watches the look that spread over Bail Organa's face – Dodonna quickly reminded him there would be in depth briefing sessions, that he'd be brought up to speed on what was going on, but it was clear from the daunted look in the Viceroy's eyes, the hollow paleness that struck his cheeks, and the shadows under his eyes, that he knew adjusting in this new world was going to be infinitely more complicated than simply sitting through a few briefings – and for that, Han took pity on him. Having just emerged from the more brutal trenches of cleaning up the Empire and building a new world, he knew that surviving hell was twice as hard as dying in it.

* * *

 _at last the suspense ends! sort of.  
i made up the bits about Alderaanian marriage customs. at least, i think i did (unless i absorbed that via osmosis somewhere and don't remember where). it adds a unique nuance and ... speaks to my personal abhorrence of wearing rings, haha.  
_

 _-alexandra_


	11. Ten

_a/n: i really like the first part of this chapter with Chewie and then Mon Mothma. so I hope y'all like it too!_

* * *

 _ **Ten**_

* * *

It was evening on Coruscant, and Leia was restless. She stood just inside the open door that led onto the apartment's balcony, listening to the hustle and bustle of traffic in the distance. Her fingers twisted idly in a strand of hair, and she narrowed her eyes. She'd run out of things to do; things to distract her. The significance of tomorrow was dawning on her brighter and brighter, even as the planetary sun set on tonight.

From behind her came a soft grumble, and she turned slightly, lifting her chin.

"I'm not hungry," she answered.

 _[I'm going to make dinner anyway.]_ Chewbacca answered pointedly _. [And you'll eat it.]_

She sighed.

"My stomach is in knots, Chewie," she murmured.

 _[I don't care.]_ He snuffled. _[Han will kill me if you look half-starved when he gets back.]_

Leia laughed, turning back to stare outside again. Her hands paused in her hair.

"I think you could take Han," she answered lightly.

 _[I don't want to have to take him.]_ Chewbacca snorted. _[Conflicts with the parameters of the Life Debt.]_

She smiled, untangling her fingers from her hair and crossing her arms.

"It would be an even match."

 _[Even? I'd win, easily.]_

"Ah, but what about the Life Debt conflict," she retorted.

 _[Hmm. I'd subdue, then. Rip his arms off, to keep him from killing me.]_

"I like Han's arms."

 _[What part would you like me to rip off, Princess?]_

She turned around, grinning.

"His mouth," she teased.

Chewbacca growled at her suggestively and she shook her head, compressing her lips. She eyed him a moment, and then sighed.

"Oh, alright," she acquiesced. "I'll eat something."

He gave a soft roar of approval and ambled off into the kitchen – and she had to admit, as nervous as her gut was, it was hard to turn down Chewbacca's cooking. Particularly if he was going to do something with meat. Chewbacca was charmingly annoying about making sure she ate, and for once, she was sure it wasn't on orders from Han. Han only noticed about fifty percent of the time when she didn't eat; Chewbacca, somewhat more obsessed with food than the average human, always noticed.

She stepped away from the open door, leaving it as it was to allow fresh air into the apartment, and turned to the couch, where she'd laid out a few choice outfits from her closet. She felt silly for spending so much time debating over something as trivial as clothing, but then again, she had to occupy her mind with something other than utter panic, and other emotions she couldn't define, and choosing appropriate attire for welcoming long lost survivors of her planet was at least somewhat difficult and thus distracting.

Chewie started to warble off a song in Shriywook in the kitchen, and she smiled to herself, infinitely comforted by his presence. She had been broken of the habit of sleeping on the Falcon due to an emergency one morning; Mon Mothma hadn't been able to find her, and it was after Luke had set off with General Dodonna, so he couldn't help, Rieekan had been on the other side of Coruscant, so Mon Mothma had gone into a bit of a panic until Leia showed up at her office with no idea they'd been looking for her at her apartment. Chewbacca chose to stay over at her place instead, and even if it wasn't the same, it was different than being alone.

She supposed one of the most frightening things about all of this was coming to terms with how fragile she was when the people she relied on weren't around – without the constant movement of war and then reconstruction, she was more dependent than she realized, and she wasn't too willing to confront it.

She leaned forward to run the fabric of a red dress through her fingers once more when the door chime rang. Leia turned quizzically – it wasn't too late, but she also wasn't expecting anyone, and visitors usually commed before stopping by. She abandoned the clothing and went to the door.

"No, I've got it, Chewie," she answered his inquiry from the kitchen.

He stopped his singing, and she placed her palm on the reader for the door, unlocking it and bidding it slide open. She arched her brows in light surprise – she found herself looking at Mon Mothma. Her last meeting of the day had been with the Chief of State and everything had been in order; she suddenly felt a sense of dread grip her – an unexpected personal visit, after hours – and Mon was in casual clothing, meaning she had been at home, or she hadn't had time to get dressed again –

"Evening, Leia," she began, and then paused, concern filling her eyes. "Leia, everything's fine," she said quickly.

Leia flushed slightly – evidently her more pessimistic assumptions had reflected on her face.

"I didn't intend to alarm you," Mon Mothma continued. She raised a data pad in her hand. "Actually, I have – good news."

A smile broke across the Chief of State's face, and to Leia's surprise she looked – she looked damn near giddy, and for a woman as composed and elegant as Mon Mothma, that was intriguing. Leia stepped back and waved her hand in welcome.

"Come in," she murmured.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Mon Mothma said, crossing the threshold. Leia shut the door behind her, and shook her head, moving forward and gesturing Mon Mothma into the living room.

"No, hardly," Leia answered a little edgily. "Everyone I entertain personally is off planet," she reminded her.

"Ah," Mon Mothma said. "I think you'll enjoy – "

She was interrupted by Chewbacca's appearance. He peered at her, and then roared a greeting, with an added curious aside to Leia.

"He says hello," Leia translated unnecessarily – nearly everyone got the gist of a Wookiee hello. She smiled slightly, and shook her head at him. "Han's okay," she answered.

Chewbacca nodded, and tilted his head, lifting his hand and gesturing wildly.

Mon Mothma considered him politely, and then turned to Leia with a slight flush; she had never been able to pick up a lick of the Wookiee's native language. Leia was prompt with her translation.

"He's offering you dinner," she supplied. "He's cooking – you are welcome," she added, for herself. "Chewie's used to cooking for Wookiees. There's always an ungodly amount of food."

Mon Mothma smiled, but declined with a shake of her head.

"I'm afraid I have late dinner plans," she said, giving a gentle nod to Chewbacca. "Thank you for your invite, Chewie."

He shrugged and returned to the kitchen.

"I apologize again – I had thought you were alone," she said again.

Leia arched a brow.

"Well, it's not as if you're interrupting anything intimate," she said dryly. "I don't know how far the holo reporters have gone with their salacious stories, but – "

" _Princess_ ," Mon Mothma interrupted, with an amused laugh.

"I'm sorry," Leia said insincerely. "I seem destined to scandalize you these days."

Mon Mothma compressed her lips with a sigh, and turned to glance around the living area – she hadn't visited Leia's new quarters since the New Republic had really had a chance to settle down on Coruscant. The place was upscale, but much less grand than Mon Mothma had expected – in other words, it wasn't the penthouse, and it wasn't lavishly decorated. The Chief of State found herself charmed by the simplicity, but put off, as well – so much about Leia these days seemed to indicate she was forgetting where she came from.

"Let me move something so you can sit," Leia murmured, sparing a wary glance for the data pad as she moved past Mon Mothma.

She gathered a red dress, a pale blue dress, and a green silk ensemble and laid them closer together so they wouldn't be wrinkled, and she grabbed a pair of boots and a vest from the armchair – they were Han's, and she hadn't bothered to move them since he left. She also hadn't bothered to pick up anything he'd left on the floor in their bedroom, but she didn't intend to regale Mon Mothma with those details.

She folded the vest, sat down on the edge of the armchair, and waited for her companion to sit as well. After a moment of looking with interest at the dresses, Mon Mothma sat, and balanced her data pad on her knees.

"You say you have – good news?" Leia asked hesitantly.

Mon Mothma handed her the data pad.

"Jan paged in with confirmation that they're starting their final approach to Coruscant, for a landing tomorrow morning," she said eagerly. "He – he felt that since they're so close, and the press has some idea of what's going on, he'd send this along – encrypted."

Leia took the data pad, lighting it up and scanning the file. She looked up quickly – up to this point, they'd only had quick confirmation from General Dodonna that the stranded ship had been abandoned, its occupants safely secured on the military transport, and that he and Han were on their way back to Coruscant with Alderaanian survivors.

They hadn't yet confirmed who they had –

"It's a roster of the passengers," Mon Mothma said, her eyes shining with excitement. "Jan said Luke and General Solo compiled the list and verified identities, and General Solo persuaded Jan to send it along."

Leia's mouth felt dry as she looked down at the black print, the shimmering names on the screen before her – a ship manifest that, miraculously, undeniably, _really_ , began with the name _Viceroy Bail Prestor Organa._

She put her hand to her lips, scanning down slowly, taking it in – the survivors were listed by rank, up to a certain point; her heart plummeted when she didn't see her mother's name, lifted again when she saw Rouge Organa's, and she couldn't help but exclaim –

"Winter!" she gasped, noting her foster sister's name. The image swam for a moment, and she blinked back tears. "Winter," she murmured, looking up in shock. "And – Stavnist Rieekan, that's Carlist's…?"

"His brother," Mon Mothma confirmed.

Leia swallowed hard.

"I don't see – no, I don't suppose his wife would," she murmured to herself, her words disjointed – no other Rieekans, so Carlist would suffer the loss of his wife and three young sons all over again – but to at least see his brother, and take solace in that – "And Aunt Rouge," she added, shaking her head. "But – yes, she was always the more adventurous," she whispered.

Mon Mothma leaned forward, reaching out to touch Leia's knee gently.

"I know Breha isn't on the list," she said softly.

Leia didn't look up right away.

"I'm sure you had hoped – "

Leia waved her hand, clenching her teeth for a moment. When she mourned her mother again, she'd like it to be with Han – or – Gods, she couldn't believe she was even thinking it, but – with her _father_.

"It's to be expected," she admitted quietly. "Alderaan couldn't be without both of its rulers at a time like that, and Father was the soldier, not Mother."

She spoke almost to herself, reading further – two linguists were present, two cabinet ministers; so many others were merely crew members of the ship or names that were vaguely familiar to Leia due to their Rebellion sympathies. She closed her eyes tightly, and rested the data pad on her knees, her hand hovering over it reverently. She shook her head, meeting Mon Mothma's gaze after a long, silent moment.

"He's alive," she said, unsure if she could believe it even now, with his name in front of her – even with Dodonna and Han and Luke, all of them, swearing to her they were about to bring him back into her life.

"I never dreamed anything like this," Mon Mothma agreed with wonder, her eyes bright – and suddenly, Leia remembered how very close Mon Mothma and her father had been; they'd seen the galaxy through the decay of the Galactic Republic and the brutality of the Empire, and even if Mon Mothma hadn't been introduced to Leia until she was much older, she'd been a part of Bail's life for so long.

Leia just looked back down at the list of names.

"Winter," she said again.

It had not occurred to her to imagine anyone but her father, once given the original distress signal and the state ship; she had spent so much time refusing to acknowledge the possibility of all this that she hadn't devoted time to thinking about who else could be there. To see that Winter Retrac was alive – her closest friend, her confidant – it almost felt more exhilarating than having her father back. After all, children were supposed to lose their parents eventually, but it had been so long since Leia had a true friend by her side – at least, a friend who had known her from childhood, who knew her back _then_.

She handed the datapad back to Mon Mothma quickly, licking her lips.

"It's this tangible thing in my hands, but it doesn't feel real," she said softly.

"I understand," Mon Mothma replied. "I can't – truly emphasize," she admitted. "I've never known the devastation of losing a planet. I can't imagine – but Carlist said the same thing, that it still feels hypothetical, almost."

"Like I won't be able to react until I see him," Leia added in a small voice.

Mon Mothma nodded, tucking the datapad against her chest thoughtfully.

Leia sat back some, turning her head. Wind from the balcony whipped her loose hair around lightly, and she swallowed, pressing her tongue against her teeth as she ordered her thoughts – the millions of things she'd been trying to keep compartmentalized for the past few weeks threatened to overtake her, and she felt dizzy for a moment. The moment passed, and she let out a breath slowly – it was frightening how uncertain she felt, how wary; amidst the burgeoning relief, hope, and excitement, was an unfamiliar dread of facing her father – and despite what anyone might say in the future, it had nothing to do with Han, and her relationship with him.

She had few qualms about introducing her father to Han, and the concept of herself and Han. Either he would like Han, or he wouldn't, and if he didn't, he'd have to get used to it. No, it was everything else she had endured and discovered since Bail's death; it was everything from Ben Kenobi to Anakin Skywalker.

There were things she had resigned herself to never knowing, and she'd learned to live with the conflicting guilt she harbored over feeling angry with her late adoptive father – but now he was alive, and it called into question so many unexpected reactions, so many questions: was she relieved, or was she itching to rage at him, to dress him down for everything he hadn't told her when he crowned her Rebel Princess?

Han had really nailed her conflict when he asked her if she thought her father wouldn't love her anymore – no, it wasn't that as much as it was her endless struggle with making peace with a past she didn't understand and a man who was too dead to give her answers and to justify the way he'd raised her.

It had always troubled her that, after Luke's revelations about Vader, some of her emotions had been directed at Bail Organa – she'd felt betrayed, abandoned, disrespected; now he was traveling towards her, very much alive, no doubt full of answers, and she was so afraid of all that had happened to her in five years, and what he'd think of her, and how much of it might be his fault.

She swallowed hard, and turned her head, shaken from her thoughts.

"Mmhmm?" she murmured at Mon Mothma, her cheeks flushing.

"I asked if you had run into trouble selecting an outfit," the other woman asked calmly. She gestured. "These are quite beautiful."

Leia looked at the clothing, seizing fiercely on an opportunity to silence her turmoil, and she nodded, shifting in the chair so she faced the outfits more clearly.

"Did we ultimately decide ban the press?" she asked.

"Not entirely," Mon Mothma answered. "It's not an open event – we've decided Bail can lead a press conference when he's ready, after he's debriefed," she said. "But we are allowing the three most reputable stations to send media, in order to confirm the press releases we've circulated."

Since sending off General Dodonna, Mon Mothma and Leia, along with others in the government, had begun slowly teasing information until finally, a succinct press release had been sent out that indicated survivors of an unspecified imperial disaster had been rescued by General Solo on a covert mission. It answered the fervent questions about where Leia's absent lover was, and it stoked interest; Threkin Horm had made the announcement that survivors of Alderaan had been found, and the press was – well, they reacted about the same as Leia had.

Skeptically.

"Does the amount of press help determine the dress?" Mon Mothma asked, mildly amused.

Leia's lips quirked up.

"I'm favoring the red," she said, reaching out. "The cape is elegant," she murmured. The red dress was the colour of Coruscant's ruby clouds, and it emulated the ceremonial Alderaanian style she'd worn at the medal ceremony for the first Death Star.

"It's very…red," Mon Mothma said carefully.

Leia gave her a sharp look.

"What colour would you suggest?" she asked.

Mon Mothma arched an eyebrow.

"White," she answered, predictably.

Leia gave her a guarded look.

"I thought I established that I'm done with white," she said simply. "At least in the ceremonial regard."

"Leia, I think these survivors are going to find it difficult to adjust to this – wildly different world they're stepping into – "

"I think the last thing my father is going to notice when he sees me again is what colour I'm wearing," Leia interrupted. "At the very least, he'll assume you've done what you wanted to do and married me off to a strategic foreign dignitary," she pointed out.

"You're sure you aren't intending to make a bold statement right away that you aren't a little girl anymore?" Mon Mothma asked, a bit callously.

"Disorientation or not," Leia said shortly, "he'll hardly have expected me to freeze in time for five years – and Mon, he's not going to see me in a bright colour and immediately drop dead of shock. The first thing he says to me after five years is not going to be 'Ah, Leia, I notice you've been with a man.'"

Mon Mothma stared at her, and then smiled somewhat grudgingly.

"You've absorbed quite a sense of humor from the rank and file of the rebellion, haven't you?"

"I _was_ the rank and file of the rebellion," Leia responded flatly. "Mon – you and the other former Alliance leadership members seem to think that the establishment of the New Republic means I'm going to return to the nineteen-year-old girl who elegantly shouted at Grand Moffs from the safety of the senate. You seem to think I've been longing for my place in the social hierarchy back."

"Leia – "

"Just let me finish. You look out for me, but you think I'd be relieved to _recreate_ Alderaan and the system I was raised in. I'd do anything to give Alderaan back to my people, but nothing erases what happened in the trenches," she said firmly. "Darth Vader destroyed the false world I lived in, and then I found out he's my father," she went on dully. "There isn't any coming back from that. I won't ever be the same again. And I won't stand in front of my father tomorrow and pretend I came out of all this unscathed."

Mon Mothma swallowed hard, dipping her head respectfully.

"On that note," Leia said softly. "You might have considered that I wasn't choosing a dress for my father, but for Han."

Mon Mothma inclined her head again, and turned, clearing her throat as she looked at the options. She touched the green silk ensemble – it was comprised of loose, flowy trousers, a jumpsuit, really, and the top half left the shoulders and back exposed, with cut-outs placed around the midriff. Running her fingers over the buttery material, Mon Mothma sighed.

"At least don't wear this," she said quietly. "I see your side, Leia," she agreed heavily, her heart heavy – she'd never have wanted to see Leia damaged, and though she knew it was beyond her control now, part of her wondered if her heart really was with General Solo, or if she was just unable to move on from a youthful affair that made her feel safe. "I _see_ your side, but I knew your father for many years, and he wanted what was best for you, always. I'm not talking about Han," she said, before Leia could snap at her, "I'm talking about the animosity I'm sure you're feeling. The first thing you asked me when we discussed Vader was if your father knew. I know this is conflicting for you."

Leia swallowed stiffly and looked at the green ensemble – she had been considering it, but she'd also questioned her confidence in wearing it.

"Han brought me that from Corellia," she said mildly, with an expression that indicated she processed what Mon Mothma said, but chose not to discuss it further. "I've never worn it."

"I can see why General Solo would buy this for you," Mon Mothma said dryly, turning her nose up slightly.

The Chief of State glanced at the vest folded behind Leia.

"So, he does live here?" she asked conversationally.

Leia nodded.

"You made him one of the highest ranking military officials in your new world order, Mon," Leia said intently, holding her gaze with a quiet challenge. "You respect him. If you could tell me why you think he doesn't deserve my affection, I would listen," she paused, studying the other woman critically. "But you can't, can you?"

Mon Mothma confirmed Leia's suspicions with her silence; she had no answer to give. She was stymied by the words, and she felt a flush of shame, suddenly. Was it aristocratic arrogance that bid her look down on Solo, was it cold political desire to use Leia as a diplomatic pawn? She wasn't sure, and she told herself to reflect upon it – but she did worry about Leia's well-being, and Leia was so young.

Leia had been so hurt by all of this, and she was really no more than a child when she was made a figurehead and a fugitive; the most significant soul-searching years of her life had been war and bloodshed, whereas General Solo had already enjoyed adolescence and early adulthood and all the privileges of it. Mon Mothma felt like she had valid concerns –

"You don't know him like I do," Leia said suddenly, quietly.

She was peering at Mon Mothma as if she could read her thoughts, and Mon Mothma drew back slightly, wary of it. She had never quite understood the Force, and she wondered if Leia might actually _be_ reading her thoughts.

"He spent his time with the Alliance breaking rules and ignoring orders and I know you all think he almost got me killed on Bespin simply because he wanted to whisk me away on a joyride," she went on. "But you weren't there. Han is anything but careless about my life. Han cares more about my life than I do."

Mon Mothma had no chance to answer; she was cut off by a soft growl from the doorway. Chewie made his presence known, his large, warm eyes focused on Leia. She looked at him, and smiled wryly, giving him a small wink. She did not translate for her visitor, and after a moment, she straightened her shoulders, and looked expectantly at Mon Mothma.

"You're sure you don't want dinner?" she offered politely, though she did not particularly want the other woman to stay – it was hard for her to discuss her personal relationship; it had been hard enough for her to open up to Han in the first place.

But she – Leia – was the one who had decided to publicly remove all doubts about her availability, and that meant not only standing her ground, but defending it. She wouldn't allow Han to be vilified or looked down upon. Not now – not ever.

Mon Mothma understood that the offer was an empty one, and stood, her datapad tucked under her arm.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Leia," she said kindly, leaning forward to give her a quick peck on the cheek. She stepped back and smiled, almost nervously, her eyes shining again, and Leia squeezed her hand, nodding, taking a deep breath.

It was Chewbacca who escorted the Chief of State out while Leia turned back absently to the ensembles, her eyes narrowing with feigned concentration. She heard the door click shut, and she sat down heavily, doubling over. She put her head in her hands and rested her weight on her knees, closing her eyes tightly until she saw spots. After a moment, she felt a heavy paw rest gently on her head and start to massage her scalp. Chewbacca mumbled something in a deep growl, and she shook her head, lifting it, and turning to him.

She couldn't find the words to express how shaken she was; she only stared at him defenselessly, daunted by the prospect of tomorrow, unable to pretend any longer that what outfit to wear was the most pressing thing on her mind.

* * *

Leia chose to wear the blue dress. She felt it was a compromise. It was pale enough that its lightness perhaps mimicked the innocence of white, but it was still confidently coloured. She did her hair simply – as simply as Alderaanians got, that is – two thin ropes operating as headbands, and a loose, elegant plait that she pulled down over her shoulder. She spent the whole morning meticulously focusing on her appearance in order to avoid going into some kind of hyperactive shock.

She and Chewbacca met the delegation at the designated private docking bay, somewhat removed from the bustle of the deep inner city. It was large enough to accommodate Dodonna's military transport, but inconspicuous enough so that curious media wouldn't necessarily know exactly how to get there.

There were plenty of guards to keep uninvited press from crashing the party, anyway.

The welcoming party consisted of Mon Mothma, Carlist Rieekan, Admiral Akbar, three of Mon Mothma's assistant ministers of state – she had fifteen in total – two more generals of the Alliance, and every single Alderaanian who worked in the Embassy and desired to be there. In addition, there were four Holo reporters, none of whom had ever, in the past, stooped low enough to accost Leia with a personal question.

Yet.

They were supposed to be the most trustworthy and dignified, but she was skeptical of all reporters lately. These seemed highly unimpressed with the gathering – she sensed they believed this was all some kind of joke, or smokescreen, and she didn't blame them. That was also why she expected them to start honing in on her – a tangible story was more interesting than ships that may or may not show up carrying ghosts planets past.

"Morning, Your Highness," Threkin Horm greeted obsequiously, sitting atop his hovering chair in robes the colour of the Alderaanian flag.

Leia inclined her head, coming to stand at the head of the group with Chewbacca towering over her, looming threateningly by her said.

"The excitement in the air is electric, is it not?" Horm boomed.

Leia blinked at him guardedly.

"I think apprehension is a more appropriate word," she said finally, expressing very little _excitement_.

Chewbacca rumbled under his breath. He didn't like Horm anymore than Han did – or Leia, for that matter – but Leia touched his paw and shook her head slightly; no need to intimidate. Horm could be oily and pompous, but he was harmless to her. She could easily cow Horm without the Wookiee's help.

"It seems we owe your General Solo some thanks," Threkin oozed.

Leia inclined her head politely, spotting Rieekan coming towards her.

"I'll be sure to give it to him tonight," she said. She paused, and then smiled prettily. "Your thanks, that is," she clarified, after quite a substantial suggestive pause.

Threkin looked abashed for a moment, and Rieekan saved her from his reaction, taking her arm and essentially cutting Horm out of the conversation – he floated away on his suspended chair, and Chewbacca snuffled with quiet laughter.

 _[That was saucy, Little Princess.]_ He crooned at her.

She smiled a bit wryly, and clasped Rieekan's hand in hers.

"Your brother, Carlist," she began, without preamble.

He nodded earnestly, swallowing hard.

"And it _was_ your father."

"So they say."

"And Winter," he said, knowing how much it meant to her.

Leia squeezed his hand in both of hers.

"I'm sorry about your wife – " she began, but he cut her off.

"There was no chance," he said. "But seeing any Alderaanians, any at all," he broke off, taking a deep breath. "This will be the brightest day I've seen since we destroyed the second Death Star."

Leia released his hand very gently.

"I think that's a lovely way to put it."

Rieekan smiled at her, and looked up at Chewbacca.

"How's it goin', Chewie?" he greeted, clasping the Wookiee's paw in greeting. "You ever been separated from Solo for this long before?" he snorted.

Chewbacca tilted his head, answered in a few light growls and snuffs. Rieekan lifted his brows, and then laughed, understanding most of it – at least the gist. He'd been diligent about picking up as much Shyriiwook as possible, as he considered Chewie such an integral part of their victory over the empire.

Chewbacca gestured to Leia and continued, and after squinting for a moment, Rieekan glanced at Leia and raised an eyebrow.

"He said I'm much easier to protect from death than Han," she translated, smirking slightly. She turned her head up. "Right, because I mope in his cabin all the time? Don't patronize me, Chewie," she threatened lightly.

Another stream of rumbling from Chewbacca, and she laughed outright. Rieekan watched them a moment, and then shook his head fondly – he hadn't really realized how close she'd gotten even to the Wookiee; but he supposed that made sense; Chewie was Han's best friend. It would be a pity if they didn't get along.

Rieekan turned to glance at the sky, and then looked back at Leia, folding his arms. He kept his back to the leadership and to the press, and he sighed, his jaw set for a moment. He rubbed his forehead, and then folded his arms –restless; anxious.

"I know the feeling," she murmured quietly.

He grunted, and nodded, his lips turning down in a frown.

"It almost seems sinister," he said uncertainly. "As if we've drawn them back from the dead."

"I suppose we have," she reflected softly.

She sighed, and lowered her eyes, brushing imaginary particles off her dress – it really was lovely, all shimmery Geonosian silk; it had a high colour, it bared her shoulders, except for the light cape she wore with it, it stopped just below her knee, and she wore it with silver heels. She studied herself a moment, and looked back up, pressing her lips together.

Suddenly, in a fit of nervousness, she felt lost; she blurted:

"Carlist, do you think he'll recognize me?"

She hated how juvenile she sounded; her voice was small, shaky, like a child's – she sounded insecure and worried, and she swallowed hard, clenching her teeth. Rieekan didn't seem to notice – if he did, he didn't mind – he turned to look at her, and rested his hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

"Yes, I think he will," he said simply.

She gave him a shaky, earnest smile.

 _But will he be proud?_

"I think he'll be overwhelmed by what you've done for the world, Princess," Carlist added quietly.

She smiled at him more broadly; somehow, he'd read her mind – and not in the invasive, slightly disturbing way Luke sometimes did, but because he understood her, and he understood what it was like to go through this – at least, some of it. The very unique trauma of finding out everyone _wasn't_ dead so many years after the wound had started to heal.

"You know what's mad?" Leia asked faintly, not waiting for an answer. "I'm standing here more eager to see Han."

Rieekan chuckled softly, and said nothing to judge or question her for that, and Chewbacca raised his paw, pointing at the path of approach. Leia followed his paw, and noticed a speck getting bigger – in moments; the original scout ship came into view and made an easy descent towards the platform. Lea heard some clicks behind her, and then Mon Mothma's Minister of the Press said very succinctly and conversationally that this wasn't the big event; this was merely General Solo.

 _Merely General Solo_ , thought Leia, amused.

As if he wasn't the person they were so obsessed with lately – she was willing to bet they were more excited about seeing her interact with him publicly than they were about these resurrected Alderaanians.

Her lips turned up as she wondered what kind of show they'd be expecting. Hell, she wondered what kind of show she was going to give. She hadn't decided yet. Chewbacca told her to scandalize the Republic, but Chewbacca could only be taken seriously _half_ the time. She also wasn't well versed in deliberately _scandalizing_ anyone.

Chewbacca peered down at her and tilted his head.

 _[You think he'd be pissed if I step in front of you and grab him before he can get a kiss in?]_

Leia snorted.

"Yes," she answered. "Additional irritation if you ruffle his hair."

 _[You think I won't do it?]_

"Oh, I think you would."

He tilted his head at her further, and she giggled quietly.

"Do it," she hissed at him.

Rieekan glanced at the Wookiee with interest.

"What's he on about?" he asked.

"You'll see," Leia said under her breath.

Carlist looked amused, but he didn't have much time to push; the scout ship was landing, and Leia straightened her shoulders – sure enough, she felt the camera lenses on her; she heard clicks, she nearly felt the flashes brighten against her back. It somehow made her angry and indifferent at the same time.

She held her breath while the ship landed and steadied itself, though she wasn't sure she made a conscious decision to do it. The ramp lowered, Wedge Antilles appeared looking as ruggedly handsome as always, and he gave a small salute to the gathering, heading straight over towards Rieekan, who stepped aside to give Leia some space. Han disembarked after him, and Darklighter after him – Leia's heart skipped a few beats as she noticed Dansra was missing.

Han already had a wolfish, brazenly smug grin on his face as he zeroed in on her and approached, and Leia gave him a demure, blithe smile in response that barely scratched she surface concerning how she really felt about seeing him again. She bit back a more enthusiastic smile when, as he got within a few large strides, Chewbacca loped towards him and grabbed him in a huge, encompassing Wookiee hug, quite literally lifting him off the ground and spinning him.

Han swore loudly, more out of shock than anything else; he hadn't expected to be mauled by his co-pilot. Leia covered her mouth with a few fingers and smiled affectionately, watching as Chewbacca stood him on his feet and rubbed a paw through his hair, causing it to stick out in odd places. Han swatted him away.

"What the hell's gotten into you, you big mass of fur," he griped, shaking of Chewbacca.

Chewbacca roared mournfully, drawing it out.

"Yeah, I missed you – you mind?" Han asked, gesturing stiffly past him at Leia.

Rieekan started laughing loudly, and saluted Han as he approached.

"Not the greeting you were expecting, eh, Solo?" he snorted, giving Leia a look of understanding.

Han threw a look over his shoulder at Chewbacca and glared, shaking his head. He came closer to Leia and she held her hands up, placing her palms gently on his chest and looking up at him. She tilted her head slightly.

"You put him up to that?" he asked, reaching up to run his fingers along her jaw.

"I've been planting rumors of your doomed secret affair with Chewie," she answered solemnly.

"So, all this time, you've just been a cover?"

She nodded, and he smirked, sliding his hand over her shoulder and pulling her closer in a hug. He seemed to inherently sense she wanted the physical kept to a minimum in front of everyone, but he still turned his head and pressed a light kiss behind her ear before pulling back, his hand running lightly over her braid.

"Miss me?" he asked, with a lopsided grin.

"Hardly," she replied, feigning aloofness.

"I like the dress," he said, his voice low.

"How much?" she asked.

He lowered his head, lips brushing her ear again.

"Show you later," he murmured.

Her hands drifted to his elbows.

"I did miss you," she confided quietly.

He put one of his hands over hers.

"Hold on to that feeling if Dodonna decides to give you a talk about me," he said dryly.

She arched an eyebrow.

"We got into it," he said evasively. "I got real uppity."

"How? You hold the same rank," she replied, nonchalant.

He looked relieved at her reaction. Still –

"Might have told him to fuck off," he warned.

"In those exact words?" she asked dryly.

He snorted.

"No," he assured her.

She shrugged.

"I don't care," she said honestly. "I said more or less the same thing to Mon Mothma."

" _You_ said fuck off?"

Leia blushed slightly. He smiled, lacing his fingers into hers – so much life experience, and swearing still got to her.

"What're we holding back for, then?" he growled, bending to kiss her.

She caught his jaw in her hands quickly and dodged his mouth gracefully, rising on her toes to reach his ear.

"Because you're mine, not the galaxy's," she whispered.

He let her pull back – fair enough. He wasn't too keen on public viewing of their relationship, either, he just wasn't as mindful about it as her. Nonetheless, he slid his arm around her waist and reached up to mess with his hair, frowning menacingly at Chewbacca as others began to approach him.

"General Solo," Mon Mothma greeted, holding her hand out. "I trust everything went smoothly?"

He shook her hand cordially, nodding as he smoothed his hand through his hair one last time.

"Yeah, no major problems," he said gruffly.

"Welcome back, General Solo – where is Dansra Beezer?" Threkin Horm asked, looking alarmed – and clearly wasting no time.

Han didn't miss how his beady eyes narrowly glared at Han's hand on Leia's waist, and he pointedly let it drift lower, resting brazenly low on her hip. Leia flicked her eyes down at the movement mildly, and did nothing to prevent it; she did, however, turn her head and look at him, her face falling with worry.

"Don't tell me you lost the only Alderaanian we sent with you," she said, catching her breath.

"Easy, now," Han said, holding up his free hand. "She's with Dodonna. That scout ship was fine to handle without her, and she wanted to be with her people."

Leia nodded with relief – she liked what she knew of the girl, and it would have been a bitter thing to have lost her in all this. Han nudged her lightly and she turned towards him a little, but realized he was just alerting her to the press approaching. She didn't shake him off, but he watched the guarded, diplomatic mask descend on her face.

"Your Press Minister allowed us to approach, Madam Chief," one reported said, addressing Mon Mothma respectfully. "If I may – "

"I'll be fielding questions," Mon Mothma said pleasantly. "You'll notice that a military ship is on the approach now…" she began.

Leia turned to look, and took a few steps forward, away from the gathering. She heard Mon Mothma call Antilles over, and moved further away, a solitary figure standing and watching the ship growing closer. A shadow fell next to hers, and Han rested his hands on her shoulders. His touch warmed her skin, and she leaned back, looking up, the sun in her eyes.

"You met him, then?" she asked.

He nodded, hands moving up and down her arms lightly.

"Nice guy."

She laughed hoarsely, and turned, grabbing the lapels of his vest.

"Nice guy?" she quoted. "That's it?"

Han shrugged sheepishly.

"I didn't have tea with 'im, Leia," he said, a bit edgily. "I kinda kept my distance. The man's a little –distracted."

Leia pursed her lips worriedly, releasing him and turning back around for a moment. He stepped around her, blocking the view of the approaching – now landing – ship, and blocking the sun that had been in her eyes.

"Distracted?" she asked softly.

"They were all havin' a hard time with the five years thing," Han explained warily. He tugged the end of Leia's braid gently. "I think your old man's expecting to get off that ship and see you in the buns."

She suddenly felt violently self-conscious about her choice to wear colour; maybe Mon Mothma was right, maybe she'd let her anger and uncertainty get the better of her. She clenched her teeth and swallowed, lowering her head for a moment.

"He _did_ think you were dead," Han said quietly. "He's very," Han started.

Leia looked up at him expectantly, eagerly.

"I see where you get your strength," Han said, finishing slowly. "He's probably as shaken as the rest of 'em but you couldn't tell. Winter had a breakdown when she found out you weren't dead. He spent most of the time with her."

Leia's cheeks paled.

"Winter was always unshakeable," she murmured. She put her hands on Han's chest again, pressing lightly. "Winter," she murmured shakily. "She was my best friend, Han, she was my Chewie."

"Yeah, I heard," Han said, brow furrowing. "How come you never mentioned her?"

She shook her head.

"Hurts too much," she said painfully. "Did you talk to her?"

"She was on a mission to kill Vader," Han said frankly.

Leia smiled to herself. She was gripped by nerves suddenly – there was no precedent for this, no rules of order to instruct her on how to act. Her vision swam slightly – she thought of how difficult it was for Mon Mothma, for Dodonna, to adjust to her post-war nature, to reconcile themselves with the Princess Leia on a royal pedestal and the _Leia_ that existed before them – and this was her _father_ , his opinion of her was no doubt unsullied, and would be sensitive to – well, sullying.

"Hey," Han said softly, touching her chin and tilting her head up until her eyes met his. "You okay?"

She compressed her lips, and nodded unconvincingly. Then, she shook her head.

"I didn't prepare myself," she admitted. "I was too busy refusing to believe it's real."

"No way you could have prepared for this, Leia," he said simply.

"I can prepare for anything," she bluffed stubbornly.

He arched an eyebrow as if to remind it was _him_ she was talking to; not the public, not her superiors. He _knew_ her. Her shoulders fell and she put her forehead on his chest. She clenched his shirt in her fingers, taking a deep breath.

"I can't help feeling that I'll see him and all I'll feel is…I don't know. Anger, disappointment."

Han just rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. He paused when he saw cameras pointed at them, and narrowed his eyes pointedly. He heard footsteps behind him, and was taken aback when Luke grabbed her elbow, reaching out to touch Leia's shoulder as well.

She looked up abruptly, alarmed, and he smiled.

"Smooth sailing, all the way through," he greeted, weaseling in front of Han and hugging her.

Han grabbed his collar and dragged him away, glaring at him for interrupting. Luke laughed at his expression

"Oh, come on, you had like fifteen minutes alone!"

"Alone?" Han gestured derisively at the press, and the government officials. He leered. "Besides, I need longer'n fifteen minutes."

"Watch it, that's my sister."

Leia rolled her eyes and smiled at Luke, but her eyes drifted past him – Han had thoroughly distracted her from the docking of the military ship. She bit her lip, reaching for Han's arms to steady herself. Her fingers curled around his wrists, and Han shot Luke a pointed look.

"Your sister's freaking out," he said dryly.

Luke eyed Leia, and took a step back; that was an understatement. He couldn't even define the emotions rolling off of her, but she didn't bother to block them from him. He could practically hear her slamming heart echoing in his ears. He considered her sympathetically, and then glanced around, wincing. He almost wished she'd put up her shields - she was giving him a headache.

"They're coming along – a lot of them are having trouble grasping this. Psychological effects," he broke off, shaking his head, and cleared his throat. "I'm going to help with the media," he said, leaning forward and giving Leia a chaste peck on the cheek.

She hardly noticed.

"Leia," Han said gruffly. "Leia – look at me, c'mon," he coaxed. "You should have seen him when I told him you weren't dead," he encouraged.

She looked at him helplessly, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She felt so – so – so conflicted. She felt removed from the moment, like she was in someone else's body, like this moment was too surreal to exist in. This was the tangible point at which the world she'd come to terms with, coped with, and consigned herself to, would rearrange itself in utterly unforeseeable ways.

She saw Dodonna coming down the ship with a few people and leaned forward into Han, rising up on her toes and perching her head on his shoulder as she looked at them – the returning Alderaanians.

She was unsure if she was cursed, or blessed.

And then she saw him.

There, just at General Dodonna's side; even after five harrowing years, she recognized him immediately, and the world went completely silent; she gave an involuntary, strangled gasp – and he was all she could see: her father, walking slowly, even uncertainly, towards them all.

Her nails dug into Han's skin, and he turned slightly, swallowing hard.

She heard a yell – maybe it was someone from the press, maybe it was even Mon Mothma, but it didn't register in her mind; she felt like she might faint for a moment. In those seconds frozen in time, all of her misgivings, all of her questions, her uncertainties about him and all the things he hadn't told her – all of it faded, and all she could remember was how good of a father he'd been, how much she loved him – all she could feel was a completely pure, uncensored happiness.

She wasn't sure if Han stepped out of the way, or if she pushed him; the time between her standing still in shock and her running across the docking bay towards him was a blur. She hadn't thought, in a hundred parsecs, that she'd greet him so indecorously, as if she were a child alone in the Antibes gardens, but she couldn't think at all.

" _Father_!"

The word came out in a choked sob, and he caught her around the shoulders when she reached him, catching his breath heavily – he was thin, and when she lifted her face, she found he looked ages older; he looked haunted and grim, and the trials of the past were etched permanently in his forehead, and the creases around his mouth – he looked at her bewildered, with disbelief, with wonder.

"Leia?" he asked loudly – it wasn't confusion, it was just – sheer _shock_ , and she grabbed his arms to steady herself – the whip-like snap of emotions that came off of him almost _physically_ affected her.

He took her face in his hands, shaking his head, trying to find something to say. He just _looked_ at her, unable to speak, and she couldn't draw her eyes away, she barely noticed Winter Retrac, hanging behind his shoulder, tears in her icy blue eyes – she didn't hear Rouge Organa behind him, chattering nervously – _Leia, you're alright, Leia, you look beautiful – Leia, Leia –_

There was a swarm around them; flashes, talking, Mon Mothma at her shoulder, Han and Luke tensely forcing people to remain at arm's length.

Her father swallowed hard.

"Lelila," he greeted hoarsely, kissing her forehead – like he used to, just like he used to, and his voice was so comforting, so familiar, when he called her by that beloved childhood nickname that had died with her planet.

She put her arms around him desperately, anchoring him to this world, to this present, to life; she hugged him like she had the last time she saw him, the day she left on her rebel mission – without inhibition, without reservation, or thought to where she was or who could see her, she rested her head on his shoulder and began to cry.

Han did what he could to block the media's view of her, but his efforts were futile; all he could think as the fray circled around him was that after all these years of hounding her, of labeling her Ice Princess, questioning her ability to feel – Princess Leia finally succumbed to the show of emotion they had all demanded from her.

* * *

 _this is probably a turning point in the story (probably? obviously, but i mean more from a writing stand point) where you're either going to like how i handle it or not. of course i hope you do! and though this chapter is earlier (surprise!) than i said it would be, I still might post one tomorrow or monday._

 _-alexandra_


	12. Eleven

_a/n: okay, okay, i know you've all probably missed your Han/Leia togetherness...  
i don't super strictly state a timeline in this chapter (or in the next few) so suffice it to say that here it's been maybe two or three days since the rescue._

* * *

 ** _Eleven_**

* * *

Leia put a considerable amount of thought into her decision on whether or not to wake Han up – they _really_ avoided doing that to one another, as there was a fair amount of trouble sleeping in both of their lives. She ultimately decided she needed him awake, though, and rolled towards him stealthily, slipping her hand over his chest under the sheets lightly. She peered at his face carefully and curled her fingers around his shoulder, shaking gently.

Han opened his eyes immediately.

"You were snoring," she lied, pressing her lips to his arm in a soft kiss – she wanted him to think she had a legitimate reason for disturbing him.

"Was not," he retorted, blinking. He moved his head and looked down at her skeptically.

"How would you know?" she retorted, lifting a brow. "You were asleep."

"No, I wasn't," he said resigned.

"You were faking sleep?" she asked.

"You were pretending I was snoring so you could wake me up?" he countered.

She compressed her lips, and lifted her head, leaning over him thoughtfully. Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she lowered her head, resting her chin on his chest lightly.

"I thought you were asleep," she admitted.

He shifted around, moving his arm until he could comfortably wrap it around her and run his fingers over her spine.

"Thought you were," he said, shrugging.

"Hmmm," she murmured, the sound humming against his chest. "You mean we've both been laying here awake?"

Han snorted quietly.

"Sounds about normal," he replied dryly. His fingers traced ambiguous designs on her bare back, and she shifted her head, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She laughed tiredly, and he tilted his head back – it was somewhat of an unanswerable question. Everything was wrong; the world as she knew it had been turned upside down – again. The past few days had just been – exhausting, overwhelming, _draining_ , and she'd finally had more than a few spare moments alone with Han and the world still seemed to be moving too fast.

"I'm so tired," she murmured in answer.

Han continued to run his hand over her soothingly – he was tired too; he couldn't sleep either. After a moment, he turned onto his side, letting his arm lay over her hip lightly, fingers splaying over her lower back. He cleared his throat and lowered his chin so he could make eye contact easier. She moved closer, resting her head on the same pillow as his.

"How do you think he's doing?" he asked.

He didn't need to clarify whom he was talking about; Leia drew her lower lip into her mouth, sighing and lifting her shoulders up and down tensely.

"I think he's doing remarkably well, considering," she answered. She shook her head. "He's so unlike I've ever seen him – I've never known him to be so…uncertain."

"Well, last he heard the Emperor was still in charge," Han pointed out dryly.

"He's taking in the briefings, he's being an incredible leader to the others," Leia said earnestly. "It just seems that it's not quite connecting yet, you know?" she asked. "As if – he knows all the basics, but then he stands in the kitchen and asks me what I thought of Ben Kenobi…" she trailed off.

The past few days since the Alderaanians had been brought to Coruscant had been filled with sessions intended to brief them on what was going on – the Media was a mess but was so obsessed with the reappearance of so many dead people, they'd completely neglected mentioning Han, as they were much more keen on continuously showing clips of Leia crying publicly in her father's arms. Things were moving a mile a minute, and a hundred-plus people were being educated on five years worth of important information, all while trying to cope with where they were, and what had happened. They were being strictly quarantined in nice quarters, eased into everything with psychologists and doctors and therapists present; their news and gossip intake was monitored - it was clinical, but it was what the Council, under Leia's authorization, had decided was best.

Bail was taking it all in truly incredible stride, but he also carried a heavy weight on his shoulders, and he seemed reluctant to let everything click – which Leia understood; she really did. He'd spent so much of his life fighting a war against the Sith regime, it must feel like relinquishing control to try and accept a different norm. Leia – Leia had felt that way herself, when the final huge warlord threat had been defeated and she and Han had come to Coruscant to stay. She still felt that way, sometimes, like she had no place, like she was falling apart; it must be worse for him, at the moment, with everything so fresh.

"It's like he's absorbing," Leia said softly. "But he's not analyzing; he's not asking questions."

"You got that right," Han muttered, moving his hand to her hip and squeezing gently. "He sure as hell didn't ask what I was doing in your apartment at night."

The Viceroy had been over earlier, just after dinner – and he hadn't really remarked upon Han's presence at all, except to ask him about his rank, and his ship, and a few generic other things –

Leia laughed, though not quite in amusement; she sounded strangled.

" _I apologize, I didn't realize you were in a meeting_ ," she quoted hoarsely – it's what her father had said when she'd let him in, and Han had been sitting in the living room.

Han smirked.

"A private meeting."

"In my apartment, after hours," Leia agreed.

"In casual clothing," Han noted seriously.

Leia sighed, drawing her fingers down his chest.

"He's distracted; disoriented," she murmured.

"You could've told 'im, Leia," Han said after a pause.

Her hand paused, lingering just above his navel. He felt her sigh, felt the soft brush of her breath against his lips, and she lowered her eyes for a moment. She pulled away from him slightly. Even though he hadn't said it with any animosity, she felt – critiqued.

"Han, he's so – he's so out of sorts. I don't want to be cavalier with his state of mind."

"You think I'm going to scramble his head that badly?" Han snorted dully.

"No," she said, shaking her head. She looked back up at him. "No, that's not what I mean – it's barely been three days. There' so much going on; the media's grabbing at him, he's trying to catch up," she murmured. She faltered – she realized how bad it sounded, but she didn't know what she was trying to say. "I just…don't know what to say to him."

Han made a skeptical noise in the back of his throat.

"Sounds like it was easier for you to throw me in everyone's face when everyone didn't include your father," he said edgily.

She reached out and clutched his upper arm, shaking her head slowly. He watched several different emotions flicker across her face, and her expression settled on troubled.

"Han, you know, on top of everything else, I've never been in a relationship before," she said, almost timidly. "And I wasn't exactly socialized, growing up, the way other human girls were. Any man who wanted to court me would have gone through a process."

His shoulders dropped a little and he tucked his arm over her tightly and pulled her close, a silent sort of apology for doubting her. He nudged her jaw with his nose and kissed her quickly on the lips, lifting his other hand to draw it through her hair.

"Process, eh?"

"Mmhm. Something about – oh, asking his blessing, if you were determined suitable," she murmured.

"So I should drop by the consulate tomorrow and ask him," Han broke off, arching a brow. "Should I be specific?"

Leia blushed.

"Well, I wouldn't lead with this," she said, gesturing at their current tangle of sheets, bare skin, and limbs.

Han grinned, and she smiled back softly, dropping her forehead against his shoulder.

"I feel like I'm watching all this happen on a holovid, Han," she confessed quietly. "I feel like I'm not reacting appropriately."

"How're you supposed to know how to act?" Han answered, shrugging. "There's no rule book," he pointed out.

"But I feel, I feel," she choked, her voice taking on a raspy, shaky quality. "I feel like I should be clinging to him, like I should – I don't know," she broke off, and sat up suddenly, her hair falling over her shoulders. She pushed it back, holding a handful of it for a moment before letting it fall. "I can't tap into that emotion I felt at the docking bay," she gasped. "It's gone; I just feel – analytical, and wary – _judged_ , like we're sizing each other up, I feel like – "

Han sat up slowly, taken by surprise. He blinked a couple of times, eyes adjusting, and she held out one hand, palm up, desperately.

"—I don't understand what our relationship is – will be – now – Han, I lost him when he died, but I really lost him the night Luke told me about Vader, and I'm not – I'm not a naïve Senator, anymore, I'm not even really a Princess, I fought in a war, but when I'm standing in front of him now I can tell he still looks at me like he did the day I left – I'm _nineteen_ in his eyes," her voice was hoarse, filled with panic.

"Yeah," Han agreed slowly. "You can't expect him to catch on right away to you – bein' different – "

"I don't," she said, nearly cutting him off. "I don't – that's not it; they keep showing that clip of me, when he arrived, hugging him and crying – and you know I wish they'd take it off the air," she said angrily, "it makes me look – weak – "

"Leia, he's your father, you thought he was dead!" Han interrupted shortly. He looked at her like she was mad. "No one thinks it's weak for you to have acted like that!"

She closed her eyes tightly for a moment and ran her hand over her face, her lips compressed.

"I never expected to react like that, to feel like that, and I want that feeling back," she said, "instead of this – hesitance around him, this – it's almost suspicion, or it's fear – and I had such a good relationship with him before I lost him, before all of this – sithspit," she gasped.

"Why are you afraid of him?" Han asked, furrowing his brow. "Is it 'cause of me, 'cause you feel like now you've got to defer to him? Leia, I get that he's your dad, but you earned your own life – "

"It's got _nothing_ to do with you!" she snapped harshly, her eyes narrowing. " _Dammit_ , Han, I'm not going to leave you – if you want out you're going to have to pry yourself free from my cold, dead fingers!"

He drew back, slightly astonished – but even despite the dramatic declaration, as heartening as it was, he still felt nettled, and not wholly that she was picking up on her own hesitance.

"Look, Sweetheart," he growled, "I got enough faith in you to know you're in it for the long run, but there's somethin' to be said for him coming in here and not even considering that I was here for anything other than a professional chat."

Her brow furrowed angrily.

"What do you mean by that?"

He threw his hand out.

"I mean it didn't even occur to the guy that I live here; he assumed you were in a meeting! Kinda makes you think the idea of me and you is so preposterous he didn't even entertain it!"

Leia caught her breath – he made a significant point, and she swallowed hard, her eyes stinging.

"Then I should have said something," she said, almost nastily. "I should have mentioned you see me naked every night so I could complicate _my_ feelings more – as long as you're satisfied, right?"

She turned to get out of bed, and he lunged forward, taking her hand.

"Leia, stop," he growled. "I'm not – I get why you didn't – ahh," he broke off, rubbing his jaw with his other hand and releasing her, pulling back. Without thinking, he said: "Hell, if we'd just gotten married already, it'd be an easy topic."

Leia, half faced away from him, her hand resting on the bed between them, turned her head, looking over her shoulder. Her heart raced wildly at his words, but other parts of her calmed down – her soul, her mind. She drew the sheets towards her, slowly twisting back towards him, crossing her legs and pushing her hand through her hair again.

She closed her eyes.

"It's not about you, Han," she repeated.

"I'm not saying I don't trust you," he said tiredly. "Leia, it'd make sense if you cared what he thinks about me, and if he reacts like Dodonna," Han said sourly, "it ain't gonna make me feel great seeing you suffering, in the middle of it."

Her lips trembled, and she sighed, opening her eyes very slowly.

"I can handle whatever happens concerning you," she said hoarsely. "As long as it doesn't involve losing you."

He smiled apologetically.

"Well, I'm not goin' anywhere, Sweetheart."

She took a deep, shaky breath.

"There are just so many unknowns, and so many hurdles to get through – but I'm not going to change the way we live, I'm not going to deliberately disguise who you are to me, but I do think it needs to wait a little longer," she said. "I just don't want it to seem like the only thing I care about is a man. For him, there are so many other things he can barely cope with. You're not the reason I'm uneasy around him, Han, I – even when I'm angriest at you, you're a source of comfort."

He thought he might have flushed at that, but her unease was bothering him – he didn't want her to be so on edge around her father; he wanted her to be at peace, relieved, glad to have him back. He wanted her to have her answers and her reconciliation – and knowing he wasn't the issue was gratifying, but he had a sinking feeling that he was starting to understand what was bothering her.

"Leia," he began huskily. "What's the problem? He's trying to get his head around this. When he does, he won't look at you like you're nineteen anymore," he soothed – Bail would start to adjust, and he was smart; he'd realize she had grown up quite a bit, and he wouldn't expect her to be a naïve teenager.

"I know," she whispered, her eyes red and shimmering with dread. Her shoulders shook, and she bowed her head. "He'll find out everything – _everything_ that they did to me on the Death Star, and he won't ever look at me the same again."

Han grit his teeth, trying to quell the nausea that struck him suddenly – here, he'd been thinking she was angry he'd treat her like she was immature or childish, while she tormented herself with the idea that he'd somehow – repudiate her, or disown her, for what other people had inflicted on her.

He reached out and took her hand again, pulling her towards him. His grip did not allow for negotiation; she found herself wrapped up in his arms and buried under soft sheets, her nose pressed tightly against his chest. His lips brushed against her temple, and then rested on the crown of her head a moment, and she felt, rather than heard, him sigh – not in exasperation, or irritation; he made that noise when he felt powerless to make her feel better.

It wasn't that she thought her father would blame her for what had happened, or literally think less of her – but she just knew what he was going to go through, because she'd gone through it, too – and it was hard, and rough; it was fundamentally unpleasant to try and put the pieces of your life back together when some of those pieces were missing forever.

"Leia," Han murmured gruffly in her ear. "Nothing that they did to you made you less valuable."

She nodded heavily, squeezing his arm – she was used to him telling her that; she was used to Han, and everything he knew about her, and everything he accepted about her without comparing it to how she'd been before – because he hadn't known her before. Han's peculiar skill for treating everyone with the attitude he felt they earned from him, his penchant for refusing to consider himself subordinate to _anyone_ because in his eyes, people were just people – that's what had kept her sane; she didn't have to _be_ anyone for Han but herself.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his lips in her hair again, and he slid his hand under the sheets, feeling for her legs, pulling her thigh closer to him. His hand moved over her intimately, though not quite explicitly, and he cleared his throat quietly.

"You don't have to figure it all out in a day," he offered.

She nodded again – it had just shaken her so much more than he could know to have her father in this apartment earlier; before tonight, they'd been at the consulate, they'd been with Mon Mothma, they'd been in political settings – and tonight, he stopped by to see where she lived; he mistook Han's presence for something innocent and businesslike, and she got a truly personal taste of what this radical reintroduction was going to be like – and she almost wished she was back in the command center of bases and starships, fighting Imperials.

She pulled back just slightly, looking up at him.

"I want to get him settled," she said softly. "I want the fervor to subside some, for his disorientation to abate – he's going to have to have a place in the New Republic, but when it comes to my personal life – you, him, Winter, Rouge – our personal lives," she said huskily, "I don't need that all over the media. It's difficult enough."

Han nodded, but she caught his jaw in her hand, stroking his cheek with a fierce look in her eye.

"Don't interpret that the wrong way," she advised quietly. "I don't mean I want you sleeping on the _Falcon_."

"Hmm," he grunted after a moment. "Speaking of that."

Leia flicked her eyes down and back up.

"Chewie told you?"

"No, the cabin smells like you."

She pinched him lightly.

"Chewie ratted me out," she corrected knowingly. "You said that cabin has smelled like me since Bespin."

"That was just me flirting."

"You're terrible at that."

"Am I?" Han asked, feigning surprise. His hand slid over her suggestively – this time, explicitly. "Then how'd I end up with a naked Princess in my bed?"

She pulled his face closer, laughing under her breath.

"Same way I ended up with a naked smuggler."

"Last resort?"

She nodded solemnly.

"Hey," he growled playfully. "I'm a _general_."

She pressed her lips to his, curling her foot around one of his under the sheets – he had such an uncanny knack for calming her down on nights like these, and she was always struck with a brief moment of awe, because she could hardly imagine life without him, and yet there'd been a time when she'd thought him contemptible; nothing more than an arrogant pain in the ass.

If she could come around, then anyone could. He was right; she couldn't expect herself to figure it all out in the blink of an eye. It had only been a few days; emotions were still running high, adrenaline was still charging through all of them, keeping the peace, giving everything a rosy hue; but whatever happened in the upcoming days and weeks and months, whatever hurdles had to be tackled, it was nothing like what she'd been through five years ago.

She had a place in this New Republic, and she'd clawed her way through hell to survive thus far, and maybe what struck her so poignantly about this whole thing was that she held more power than she had in a long, long time; there would be inevitable strife with her father, whether it was over Han, or the past Bail had shrouded from her – but this was her world, and he'd have to come to terms with it.

* * *

The best word to describe Bail Organa at this point in his life was haggard. Haggard, careworn, downtrodden – all synonyms, all appropriate descriptors for the Viceroy of fallen Alderaan. As Luke sat with him in one of the more private staterooms of the Alderaanian Embassy, he studied him intently, positive that under the veneer of exhaustion and anxiety, a fearless soldier and a formidable politician still remained.

Surely the man who had raised Princess Leia would be able to resist the black hole of depression, despair, and defeat that often beckoned Alderaan's survivors.

This was their beloved and esteemed leader, and furthermore, he had so much knowledge to share, he could be so integral to their new Republic – if they could only acclimate him, if they could only get him past these rough first days and set him on the right path.

Luke had attached himself to Bail Organa from the moment they rescued him; he received the blessing of the Chief Of State to present himself as some sort of minder, a guide for the man – and for any Alderaanian who sought comfort or explanation from a Force-sensitive being; they were, after all, a planet who had lauded the Jedi, mourned their demise, and revered their legacy. Luke, for one, was relieved the New Republic agreed that he was the best choice to serve as Bail Organa's point of contact and constant companion for a while. Luke cared about the galaxy's freedom and the significance of miracle survivors, but his personal interest in the Viceroy couldn't be denied.

This man had _known_ Ben Kenobi. He was Leia's adoptive father, he'd _sent_ her off to find the last Jedi – he was an invaluable link to the old order of things, and though Luke kept his millions of questions to himself for the time being, his desire to wring all possible knowledge out of Bail was simmering just under his skin.

Bail gave a gruff sigh as he drew his finger across the data pad in front of him, grimacing. He looked up and met his young companion's eyes, his forehead wrinkling deeply.

"Why is it that these files are so difficult to read, despite knowing the Alliance succeeded?" he asked.

It seemed rhetorical, but Luke answered anyway.

"Victory came at a bloody cost," he remarked solemnly – that was the simple truth of it; there'd been death at every turn, danger in every step, and so few of those who had originated the Rebellion lived to see its goals come to fruition.

"Yes, as expected," muttered Bail. He put his chin in his hands and rubbed his jaw, shaking his head slightly. "But such a cost, _such_ a cost," he said under his breath. "Entire planets."

Luke was quiet respectfully for a moment.

"What happened to Alderaan…it really drew a line in the sand," he offered. "There was no ambiguity after that. You were either with the Empire, or against it." Luke hesitated. "They created more enemies than they anticipated, with that."

Bail Organa nodded, his eyes narrowing.

"The success of tyranny is rooted in a very fine equilibrium of abject fear," he said wisely. He held up his hands evenly. "When the people are oppressed and afraid, but not too destitute, they kneel, and they pray to be left alone," he said. "If the people are not afraid of a tyrant," he raised one hand, "there is no tyrannical power at all," he said, and then lowered that hand, and raised the other: "if the people are so afraid, and so destitute, that they think they will die no matter what their choice, the time is ripe for an uprising."

He looked at his hands for a moment, and then lowered them, flattening them on the table.

"For the sake of security, I watched the inhabitants of this galaxy bend very far for Darth Sidious," he said heavily, "but I knew that deep down in their souls, those souls that remembered the Republic despite its faults, they would not _break_."

Luke tilted his head with interest – of course Bail, and Mon Mothma, and the other progenitors of the Alliance, had laid in wait for so very long; they'd operated through political dissent at the beginning, when they could; they'd constructed ways to undermine the Empire, they'd laid the groundwork for the eventual overturn of the dark legacy – but hearing Bail Organa speak about it was fascinating; he was clearly a great mind. Not to mention –

"You refer to Emperor Palpatine as Darth Sidious?" Luke asked curiously.

He'd never heard Palpatine referred to in that vein – he knew that's the name he had taken, but it was only Vader who had worn the mantle of the Sith publicly and terrifyingly.

"That's who he is," Bail said stiffly. He hesitated. "Was," he muttered, and curled his fingers up in slight fists on the table.

It seemed too good to be true to be extracted from a stranded hell and brought into a world where both Sith Lords were gone, and the Galaxy was in full-throttle reconstruction.

"This is incomprehensibly difficult," Bail remarked suddenly, looking down at the data pad before him – it was downloaded full of declassified Alliance files, mission reports, profiles – essentially a library of what had happened, including dossiers on the most prominent actors and what they were doing now, if they still lived. "It's as if I'm studying history."

"It is history," Luke said frankly. "Just very recent."

"What I mean is," Bail began dryly, "it's as if I'm studying history as I did when I was a boy – I have clear proof it happened, but I have no attachment to it, no connection," he noted thoughtfully. "The sense of – indifference that keeps striking me is bewildering."

"Indifference?"

"Not indifference," he said, frustrated. "It isn't indifference. The intake, though, sorting through all of this – it's altogether too analytical, considering how much of my life was devoted to the destruction of that regime, and considering," Bail paused for a long, heavy moment, "considering what I put my daughter through," he finished quietly.

Before Luke could say anything, Bail looked up at him critically, his lips pressed together tightly.

"You haven't provided with me with five years of files on her," he pointed out.

Luke winced slightly, leaning forward – they hadn't, and it was difficult to explain why. Mon Mothma hadn't wanted him bombarded with Leia's full rebellion history, particularly considering it had never been on Bail's agenda to thrust the Princess directly into the core of the fight. Luke sensed the Chief of State feared, on some level, that her old friend would be upset with her for allowing Leia to fight the way she had – but Luke was ready to assure Bail that there had really been no stopping her.

"We wanted to give you an appropriate framework for everything leading up to now," Luke said carefully. "The missions Leia was involved in are outlined where they're pertinent – "

"Yet I have dossiers on you, on the Wookiee Chewbacca – Wedge Antilles, two Darklighters, Madine, Dodonna, this General Solo, even Rieekan – people I know, people I _don't_ know," he listed. "A file on Leia is conspicuously absent."

Luke grimaced slightly. He chose to be honest with the Viceroy –

"There are disturbing details in it that Madam Chief didn't want to burden you with immediately," he said grudgingly. "She expected you – all of you – to be in a fragile state, and the more personal details – ah, well, it seemed best to leave that to you and Leia."

"Leia wants to discuss it personally?" Bail asked.

Luke flicked his eyes away evasively. He didn't think Leia wanted to do any such thing. He sensed Bail's eyes still on him, and with a heaviness, he turned back to the older man, leaning forward on the table.

"The leadership doesn't think you're prepared to cope with the things that happened to her right away. They thought it was best to get you, and the other Alderaanians, acclimated to current events and settled in. It's also why Leia has been giving you some space."

Bail considered him a moment.

"The leadership," he quoted. "Are you suggesting you think they're wrong?"

Luke shrugged warily.

"I think…it's all a lot to take in, and once you've got the basics – we won – you're ultimately probably more concerned about your daughter."

Bail looked impressed, and nodded once – it was exactly what he'd been thinking. It would take him weeks – months – to comprehend all of the things he'd missed. Adjustment wasn't going to take place over a day, and he had no pressing things to attend to, because he had no planet to rule. He had no idea what he'd even do in this new world, as it was even uncertain if he'd be in charge of his lost population: it seemed clear that Leia oversaw the Alderaanian Diaspora.

Despite all of the things they'd given him to read, and the briefings he'd been subjected to as they tried to fill him in and occupy him, he felt like a listless outsider, wandering through the world with no place. He'd never have the kind of experience and knowledge they had to be a player on the stage now, and while that wouldn't have bothered him in the old days – he'd always preferred representing to ruling – he no longer even had a home to govern, or a world to speak for.

He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair.

"Does Leia have a file?" he asked.

Luke was quiet a moment.

"Yes, I have it," he answered finally. "Before I give it to you, I think it's appropriate I give you an outline – "

"I've got that," Bail said, somewhat edgily. "She was involved in the heart of all this; that was covered in most of what I've been given," he explained, gesturing at the data pad. "She went from the Senate to some of the seediest places in the darkest corners of the galaxy," he said distastefully, "and somehow made it out alive – head of the Alderaanian Council, Ambassador At-Large for the New Galactic Republic," he sounded irritable, though Luke sensed the irritation was not directed at Leia or her titles.

"She's assumed to be the favorite in general elections for either Vice President of the Senate or Chief of State, if she challenges Mon Mothma," Luke noted quietly.

Bail sighed shortly.

"I don't know that a position like that is advisable for her," he said somewhat tersely. He went on: ""It's natural to me that she's in a position of influence; what I don't understand is why she was in the trenches."

He grit his teeth, and Luke drummed his fingers lightly on the table.

"She had nowhere to go, once Alderaan – "

"There _was_ a plan in place, if it became necessary for her to disappear," Bail insisted. "She was supposed to return to Alderaan after she took Obi-Wan to the Yavin Base, and, ah," he broke off, his face blanching, frustrated. "I know it all went to hell; I know it did, but there was an underground system in place for high profile fugitives, and I trusted that was where she'd end up."

"I have to defend General Rieekan and Mon Mothma on this one, Viceroy, because – "

"No, you don't," he said flatly, holding up his hand. "I have no doubt that Carlist and Mon did their best to follow through with contingency plans, and I am sure my daughter in some way flouted them."

Luke smiled a little – at least Bail Organa seemed to know Leia well. It made Luke wonder what she'd been like as a young girl and younger teenager.

"What I don't understand is why she remained with the rank and file," Organa went on, "when her skills were vastly better served recruiting others to the cause via the underground channels."

Luke looked down at his fingers on the table quietly, grinding his teeth together – he didn't know what Organa's plans had been for Leia, and he didn't know what Leia would have done if the mission had gone completely smoothly and she'd gone back to Alderaan – or even if she'd had to go into hiding. He didn't even really know what had driven her to stay with them on the bases when, as Organa pointed out, much of the current leadership had separated themselves when they could and drew together only at the most important moments.

He looked up after a moment, and cleared his throat.

"You were told she was killed, weren't you?" he asked. "You and your wife were told Princess Leia was killed in an accident when _Tantive IV_ had a malfunction," he recited.

Bail nodded, lifting his shoulders.

"Yes," he said. "We hardly believed that. That's why I took an elite cohort to head for the Senate and demand more information – to rally vocal opposition to such a boldfaced lie – "

Luke nodded, holding up his hand.

"I know," he said succinctly. He considered Bail. "You know she's alive. Then you know, because you read these files, that I met Leia when Ben Kenobi and I infiltrated the Death Star. That she was held prisoner."

" _Yes_ ," Bail said again. He blinked, unsure of where the conversation was going. "Obi-Wan sacrificed himself on that mission."

"Oh, you can hardly call it a mission," Luke choked. "We ended up on that battle station as prisoners, and if it weren't for General Solo's smuggling compartments, it would have all ended pretty quickly. The droid Leia sent to Ben is the one who told us she was even there – "

"This report is in your file, Commander Skywalker."

"Well, I'm trying to drive home the point that she was held captive on the Death Star by Darth Vader himself," Luke said dryly.

"I understand that," Bail said bitterly. "A high profile prisoner on a high profile base – she had diplomatic immunity," he asserted.

Luke pushed his finger into the table, shaking his head sharply.

"I'm trying to tell you that her diplomatic immunity was not respected," he said flatly. "She was slated for public execution, after Alderaan was obliterated."

Bail stared at him, his eyes narrowing.

"The Empire had no legitimate proof that she was – we were very careful – "

"Careful about sending a teenage girl up against a Sith Master?" Luke interrupted skeptically. "It doesn't matter if there wasn't a paper trail; her true loyalties were written in her feelings."

"I did not deliberately send her up against a Sith Master," Bail said sharply. His mouth felt dry, like cotton; he had sent her after Obi-Wan Kenobi; she had taken the opportunity to get the plans on her own, on a once in a lifetime chance she couldn't pass up. The spy who had them had been caught and, in a desperate bid, sent them to Leia instead. Bail had instructed her to continue to Obi-Wan with them, but Vader had discovered the deception.

Bail cleared his throat, tapping his datapad.

"These files very clearly honor her for keeping the location of the rebel base a secret."

"She did," Luke confirmed. "She never gave in. They put a tracker on us when we escaped and that's what led to – anyway," he switched gears swiftly. "Viceroy – Bail," he went on emphatically, "Governor Tarkin and Vader didn't just ask her nicely for the location and hang their heads in a bit of a huff when she refused," he said ominously, "and _that's_ why her file wasn't given to you at top priority."

Bail Organ was silent for a long, heavy moment. He sat forward and laced his fingers together, staring down at his palms. Luke watched him swallow hard, and watched the lines in his face seem to visibly deepen as he considered the implications. He cleared his throat quietly and then took a quiet breath, his expression bleak.

"What exactly happened to my daughter on the Death Star?" he asked finally.

Luke shook his head solemnly.

"She doesn't talk about it," he said. "I've never asked, and out of respect for her, I didn't read the file that was put together. All I can tell you is that – she needed a lot of medical attention, for a long time, after the Battle of Yavin," he revealed quietly. "I think what you'll find in her file regarding that time is purely medical record and physician's conjecture, because I don't think she ever explicitly answered any questions about what happened. The only thing she'll tell me is that Vader oversaw it all personally." Without thinking, he added: "I think she only talks to Han about it."

Bail only seemed to be half listening, though; his face had turned pale, and he'd closed his eyes lightly, bowing his head forward. He did so – because he'd heard rumors concerning the kind of inhumane interrogation tactics the Empire employed; he'd heard whispers of what sort of sadistic and experimental things they did to non-human and human prisoners alike, and he tried desperately to block out thoughts of anything like that happening to Leia –

He shook his head after a moment.

"I miscalculated," he rasped, his face stricken. "I never thought Vader would – "

"He knew what she was on sight, Viceroy," Luke said sympathetically. "I know there was an assumption that she was too popular to really be treated poorly but – "

Bail was shaking his head.

"No," he said hoarsely. "No, it isn't that. It doesn't...truly surprise me that her immunity was ignored, that they held her without trial."

"Then…?"

Bail looked at him unfocused.

"It had to be her," he said. "She – I thought _she'd_ be safe. If it came down to a confrontation, I never thought he'd hurt _her_."

Luke eyed him curiously for a moment, and then his eyes widened, and he leaned forward – eager, almost morbidly so.

"You're talking about Vader," he said, his words rushed. "You – you had faith in Vader?"

The sense of excitement that the notion evoked in Luke made him feel somewhat guilty, but he couldn't help it; he was so used to Leia's absolutely non-negotiable feelings about Vader, and to sense that Bail had known her first move in the Rebellion might put her face to face with him because the Viceroy thought she'd be able to somehow crack his armor – it made him wonder if Bail had known Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi, the man who existed before the monster.

"Not faith," Bail said, in that same raw, sickened tone. "H-Hope – I barely even call it hope," he managed, leaning forward to cover his face, and then run his hands tensely through his greying hair. "Obi-Wan held out such hope, even as the years went on – we thought, at the very least, if things went awry and it was Leia face-to-face with him, it would stir something – " he broke off, looking at Luke desperately through his fingers. "But you say he personally – he personally – "

Bail couldn't finish the sentence, except to shudder and fall silent.

He'd placed his last sliver of hope in Obi-Wan's fierce convictions; he'd sent Leia on to meet with Kenobi himself, to let him know the time was right to reunite the twins; the game plan had been complex; he'd been sure that the consistent lenience and tolerance Vader had shown towards Leia while she was a senator indicated he sensed something about her, and that something was the faltering they needed.

But to hear – to learn – that Vader had – whatever he'd _done_ – the guilt that struck Bail was unbearable; the horror palpable. He stared into his palms, frozen, unable to find words. He'd sent her into that, without explanation. He'd asked for her patience; he'd been relying on a reunion with Obi-Wan to help guide him, to help him make things clear, to put Leia's latent power in her hands.

Yet in this reality, he found the Empire defeated as they'd always wanted, and things so wildly different – Luke Skywalker had clearly reached the potential they'd planned for him, but Leia's path –

"Anakin Skywalker was truly dead, then," Bail said, his voice hollow. "Obi-Wan was wrong."

"He _wasn't_ wrong," Luke defended softly. "Anakin Skywalker defeated Vader, and he killed the Emperor," Luke insisted. "When my father died, he was Anakin again. But he – he didn't know about Leia; he didn't know I had a sister," he said." Not until the end."

It wasn't a defense; it was a statement, and a lukewarm, dreadful one at that – Luke didn't want to come off as if he took lightly what Vader had done to Leia, but his understanding of the Force helped him to peacefully and more logically separate the perversion of the Sith from the man who had been a Jedi.

Bail lowered his hands slightly, and gave Luke a piercing gaze.

"Does she know?"

Luke heard the unspoken part of the question easily from Bail's mind – _about Vader; does she know about Vader?_

He nodded solemnly.

"How did she come to know?" he asked faintly. "Obi-Wan – but no, she told me she never properly met him," he murmured, as if confused. "Who – "

"I told her," Luke said. He paused for a beat. "It was Vader who told me."

One of Bail's hands dropped from his face to the table, and Luke was unprepared for how startled the other man looked – his face looked damn near panicked for a moment, before he composed himself, and his brow furrowed darkly.

"Son," he said, his voice low. "Vader was told your mother died before your birth."

Luke swallowed hard.

"He figured out that was a lie, then," he said. Luke held up his arm, and drew his sleeve back, revealing the eerily real looking, and yet wholly prosthetic, hand that fused with his wrist. "He told me the truth," Luke murmured. "The moment after he did this."

He flexed the fingers, and showed Bail Organa the slim metal ring that held his mechanical hand to his flesh. His lips compressed tightly, Bail reached out to touch the artificial palm, and then drew his hands back, studying his fingertips wordlessly.

"There's no way you would know this," Bail said finally, "but his first injury – your father, Anakin Skywalker's first major injury, was the loss of his hand," he revealed dully. "I almost wonder if he marked you."

Bail's expression was low, dark; he slumped back in his chair.

"When you told her this," he began, looking up, jaw set tautly. "How did she-?"

"She doesn't acknowledge it," Luke said. "She – it certainly isn't public knowledge," Luke explained quickly. "She's told," Luke stopped suddenly, unsure if he should mention Han again. He wasn't sure Leia had that conversation with Bail yet, and he would certainly think it odd that she'd confided in a general - Luke cleared his throat: "She didn't take it well," he said heavily. "To her, you're her father," he said. "No one else."

"Mon Mothma is aware," Bail said flatly. "She was just a Senatorial Aide on Chandrila when we made the arrangements, a very close friend of mine and of Senator Naberrie's."

Luke leaned forward, eagerness taking over him again – that was the surname Leia had mentioned once, wasn't it? The surname that went with the Naboo name Amidala, her second name?

"This Senator Naberrie – " he began, but Bail cut him off heavily, leaning forward again.

"It's imperative I read my daughter's file," he said tiredly. The lines in his face did seem to deepen every second, etching themselves into the corners of his eyes and the creases of his forehead like so many ravaged canyons.

Luke bit the inside of his lip – despite his burning curiosity, he knew now was not the time to press Bail for information on Anakin Skywalker or any other member of their family; there would be time enough for that in the future. He nodded curtly, and leaned back some, drumming his fingers for a second.

"I'll go have access authorized," he said, starting to get up. "It shouldn't take long." He paused, and glanced at a clock on the wall. "If you want to take a break, I'm sure you could find Leia for lunch," he ventured. "She usually eats in her office, but I can make sure she's there and not out with Han or something."

Bail sat quietly for a moment.

"No, I think I'll plow on," he decided, hesitating momentarily after that. "I wouldn't want to ask or say something insensitive," he added darkly.

Luke nodded, and sidestepped his chair; before he could leave, Bail stopped him.

"These files seem to indicate she spent most of her time with you, some of these Rogue Squadron members, and her pilot."

Luke blinked.

"Who?" he asked. "Her pilot?"

"She was meeting with him two evenings ago, when I stopped by to see her," Bail said quietly. "To get a feel for her life."

Luke still looked uncertain.

"I…didn't know Leia had a personal pilot. She can fly," he said lamely.

"That older fellow, the General," Bail clarified. He snapped his fingers. "Solo. The one who came for us."

Luke blinked, this time with understanding, as realization clicked. He wrinkled his brow slightly, almost amused at the assumption – he hadn't realized Bail had gone by to see Leia at her _apartment_.

"Oh," Luke said neutrally. "Han," he said – he'd mentioned Han twice, and Bail had read the files, but he still didn't seem to be making the connection very well. Then again, he was taking in a lot. He barely even seemed to associate Han with the crew who had rescued him. Luke hesitated. "Han's not her pilot, though. He never worked for her. He sort of – well, he was my pilot, technically, at first. And then a supply runner. But no one is really the boss of Han." _Well – okay, except Leia_ , Luke thought; but he didn't say it out loud.

"He's a general," Bail pointed out skeptically. "He has to take orders."

"If you find a way of making him understand that, let us know," Luke snorted.

Bail frowned thoughtfully.

"I only spoke with him briefly, outside of the voyage back from Alderaan," he said. "I presumed she was meeting with him because he's to receive some sort of award," he went on.

Luke started laughing.

"Han? An award?"

He saw the serious, composed look on Bail Organa's face, and he hastily forced his laugh into a cough and composed his features solemnly. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, no, we don't give Han awards. We did that once and he didn't shut up for two years. When he does something good, we just stop making fun of his ship for a week."

"I'm sure my people would like to see him publicly commended. Yourself as well – and the Rogues," Bail said diplomatically.

Luke felt his neck get hot – he hadn't felt like much of a hero, nor dreamed of glory and honor, since his first taste of battle five years ago. He just felt sheepish at the idea of recognition now. Not to mention – Luke knew for a fact the only reason Han had been at Leia's apartment was because he lived there, but Leia did not appear to have shared that with her father, and Luke was not about to rat her out if she had some reason for protecting that information.

"Um," Luke said inelegantly. "Well, I'm sure Leia will commend him for you," he said – and then frowned to himself. Maybe that sounded inappropriate—was it a double entendre? He hadn't meant it that way. He cleared his throat tensely, and stared down at the light saber hanging from his belt.

"General Solo doesn't work for her, then?" Bail ventured. When Luke was silent, the Viceroy gestured at the data pad mildly. "It would appear she recruited him; he didn't take an official position until after he'd worked with her for a while."

Luke wasn't sure what to say. After a moment, he settled on:

"Leia trusts Han."

It was simple, and true.

Bail made a thoughtful noise under his breath.

"Do you trust him?" he asked Luke.

"Yes," Luke answered automatically. He paused briefly. "He volunteered for that rescue mission, Bail," Luke went on. "If you're concerned about him for some reason, you shouldn't be."

Bail Organa shrugged.

"He seemed like an excellent commander," the Viceroy said simply. He looked at Luke mildly a moment. "He was at Leia's apartment after hours the other night," Bail said finally. "He constantly addresses her without her title," he added. "It struck me that he might be – "

Luke winced, seriously unwilling to be the person who had this conversation with Leia's father.

"—making advances towards her, and she hasn't realized that."

Luke stopped wincing and resorted to trying not to roll his eyes – well, at least Leia's concerns that her father would be unable to grasp how much she'd changed, and grown up, since he'd last seen her weren't entirely unfounded. It was on the tip of Luke's tongue to assure Bail Organa that his daughter definitely realized it, and had encouraged it and committed to it, but it wasn't his place, and he didn't want to make her life more difficult or throw Han under the landspeeder.

"Things were a little less formal in the Rebellion," Luke said neutrally, pointedly evading the finer details of Bail's comment. "And Han's not from a cultural background that recognizes that sort of thing."

"I see," Bail said, rubbing his jaw. He nodded to himself, his expression uncertain. After a moment, he put his head into his palms again, and heaved a deep sigh. "I'll – resign myself to Leia's file now, Commander Skywalker," he said, his voice slightly muffled.

"Can I bring you back some lunch?" Luke offered sympathetically.

Bail lifted his head.

"If you'd be so kind," he agreed.

Luke nodded, and eyed him a moment more before finally leaving the room. He had a bit of a walk to access the command center of the Embassy, where he could put in a call to General Rieekan for transfer access to Leia's files. Carlist might want to come up and sit with Bail himself for that read – as he'd told Bail, Luke had never read it, and didn't intend to. He assumed it was a nasty story, but all he really knew of Leia's time on the Death Star was that it was where she'd gotten the angry red scar just above her elbow that she always covered with some sort of jewelry cuff if her arms were bare.

For what it was worth, Bail was striving to adjust to what he was being thrust into; he was taking in current events and reading up on the past. Despite his obvious eagerness to spend time with Leia, to just be a father to her, he complied with the leadership's request that he acclimate himself first – particularly when he was told that Leia saw that as best, as well. Luke himself sensed that Leia's fear of this whole situation, erased the day Bail Organa had returned and she'd succumbed to raw emotion for a few precious hours, had returned and was leading her to keep it all at arms' length while she processed it. He wondered if Han was irritated that she seemed to be keeping their relationship from her father.

Luke rubbed his forehead tiredly as he entered the command center and greeted Braxxer and Tyr Taskeen – he shot a moody glare at the large screen holovision, where one of the returned Alderaanians was being interviewed alongside a shot of Leia on the platform with her father – and then he sat down to put in the call to General Rieekan, dreading being the one to place Leia's file in Bail's hands.

It would no doubt upend the delusion he was clinging to – that she was okay; that she was the daughter he'd last seen when she was nineteen – but it would also probably serve to obliterate the haze he and his people had been living in for the past five years and enable him to step into the new reality.

* * *

 _so, stepping forward into the actual Bail is alive AU part._

 _-alexandra  
(feedback appreciated as always)_


	13. Twelve

_a/n: I apologize in advance._

* * *

 ** _Twelve_**

* * *

Leia was slightly disoriented when she awoke on the sofa in the living room. Pushing her hair back gingerly as she sat up and blinked sleep out of her eyes, she turned her head and stared in confusion at the open window – it was still a soft, red sort of daylight outside, and – she was still in her Ambassador garb, she noticed, glancing down. She pulled some hair away from her face and stood up – she'd left the Courts slightly early today, exhausted from the efforts of the opening War Crimes tribunal, hoping Han was around. He hadn't been at the apartment or at the _Falcon's_ docking bay, though – she'd turned on the holovision to monitor what they were saying about the Alderaanians and she must have fallen asleep.

She turned away from the window and almost tripped over a pair of Han's boots – so he'd come home while she was napping? Strange that it hadn't woken her up. She bent to neatly place them somewhere less potentially hazardous, and then tapped the holopad she'd left on the table to check the time. She gasped aloud – it was nearly eighteen hundred standard.

Leia straightened up hastily and nearly ran out of the living room towards the kitchen – there were all kinds of grocery bags filled with produce and meat on the counter, so Han had done his due diligence in that respect – but where was he?

"Han?" she yelped, sounding more panicked than she meant to.

She heard him yell something back from the master bedroom, and followed his voice. She gathered the obnoxious train of her official dress in her hand and looped it over her arm for better mobility. She found Han in the bathroom, rubbing his hands over his jaw. He'd clearly just finished shaving, and on top of that, he was fresh out of the shower; his hair was wet, and he hadn't put a shirt on yet.

"What's wrong?" he asked, eyeing her curiously as she peeked into the bathroom and then sidled up next to him.

She glared at him narrowly, sparing a moment to look at her frightfully disheveled appearance before she reached out and pinched him hard in the ribs.

"Hey!" he protested, dodging away from her. "What'd I do?"

"It's nearly eighteen!" she admonished. "Why didn't you wake me up when you got home?"

"Well, Princess, I had no idea you were feeling that deprived of my presence."

She pinched him again.

He took a full step away from her and grabbed her hand gently, neutralizing her pinch capability.

"Use your words, _Ambassador_."

She lifted her chin and wriggled her hand away.

"Han, Winter's going to be over for dinner tonight – "

"Yeah," he said slowly. "At _twenty_."

"—and I don't know what I'm wearing yet – "

"You've got two hours!"

"—you haven't even started cooking – and is Chewie coming? He never answered, I meant to call him – "

"It'll take me an hour to make dinner," he tried to interrupt calmly.

"My hair is a mess – you know how long it takes to do my hair – and who's going to brush it if you didn't give me enough time – "

"Two hours, Leia!"

"But I have to pick out an outfit, and shower, and make-up – and if you're cooking dinner, you can't brush my hair, and it will take twice as long – "

"Leia!" he interrupted, looking at her incredulously. When she finally fell silent, he shook his head, running his hand over his face in disbelief. "Why are you having a meltdown?"

She looked abashed.

"I'm not having a _meltdown_ ," she retorted hotly, placing her hands on her hips. The excess dress material she'd been holding swooshed to the floor. "You should have woken me up!" she protested.

He frowned, shaking his head.

"You didn't even move when I walked in the door," he said.

"Which is why you should have – "

" _No_ ," he interrupted emphatically. "You don't sleep well. I'm sure as hell not going to wake you up when you're dead to the world." He snorted, and turned back to the mirror, moving closer to her and leaning forward to examine his shaving job. "You got time, Leia. Dunno why you're acting like you've never met this girl before. You grew up with her."

Leia folded her arms across herself protectively, compressing her lips. She stayed quiet, thinking about her impromptu nap – he was right; she never slept well. It hadn't even been a nightmare that interrupted her just now, she'd just come out of it naturally, and that was rare – rare to wake up because her body felt she was rested rather than at the behest of an alarm clock or because of a nightmare's assault.

Her lips turned down slightly, and she sighed softly.

"But I'm not the person she grew up with," she murmured, lowering her eyes. "It's been so long, and I'm so…different."

Han reached behind him and took her arm, tugging her forward. He stepped back, lifted her up, and perched her on the sink facing him. She leaned forward, gripping the edge of the sink, and stepping forward he got caught in her skirt. He glanced down and gathered the material up in his hands, eyeing it a moment. He raised his eyebrow.

"I don't know why I wore it," she said, flushing. "It's ceremonial Alderaanian, but it needs to be hemmed," she trailed off, as he moved the material aside and stepped between her legs. He moved his hands over her knees under all the cloth, leaning closer.

"Do you need help taking it off?" he asked seriously.

She smiled.

"Han," she began, lifting her hands and putting them on his shoulders. He leaned into the touch, pressing his lips to hers.

"Don't spend two hours tryin' to be the person Winter remembers," he murmured, pulling back slightly. He gave her a pointed look. "It won't do you any good." He started to kiss her again, and then paused, narrowing his eyes. "You'd better stop doing it around your father, too," he added.

"I'm not," she protested half-heartedly, turning her head away.

She closed her eyes to avoid his gaze – he was right; she was on eggshells around her father. She played it close to the vest; she didn't discuss her personal life because she wasn't ready yet, and there was so much going on, and she kept telling herself after the press conference, when things died down, they could address things other than publicity and politics. She was keeping Bail firmly at arm's length; Han wasn't even sure she'd taken a moment to be truly alone with him other than the few hours she'd taken the night he returned.

"Leia, Luke told me he's read your file," Han said flatly. "He knows the Death Star was bad."

Leia shook her head, turning her gaze back on him.

" _Half_ of what happened isn't in that file; you know that," she said hoarsely.

"You don't have to tell him anything you've told me," Han retorted.

"What if I have to?" she whispered. "So he'll understand why I am – why I'm _this_ way?"

Han grit his teeth, his brow furrowing.

"What the hell do you think is wrong with you, Sweetheart?" he asked quietly. He hadn't known her before the Death Star; he hadn't known the young, naïve, and infinitely more optimistic Princess of Alderaan, but in Han's life experience, nothing about people ever changed that much, not once they were grown, not once their personalities were set – life happened to them, and it eroded falseness, or it convinced true nature to be embraced in spite of societal expectations or duty or self control, but people, fundamentally, at the core, were made of what they were made of.

"I don't think anything's wrong with me," she responded hoarsely – unspoken, she implied she still thought _Bail_ would. She paused, and licked her lips. "There's a core aspect of Alderaan, of its people: it's a softness. Not weak, but gentle. A strong belief in peace, hope; it's so rare to find a jaded Alderaanian," she said, and he stared at her, mesmerized – he never heard her talk about her planet, not like this; not with such nostalgia and admiration. "He's like that. I don't have that anymore. I don't think I _ever_ had that," she whispered, "and I can't conceal it anymore."

He lifted his hand and touched her cheek lightly, considering her a moment.

"Leia, I think we just found a stranded ship full of jaded Alderaanians," he pointed out. "You may be surprised."

She didn't look convinced, and he figured that was because there was something he didn't understand about the pervasive tradition of the Alderaanian culture, the people she'd grown up around. He gave her a small, encouraging smile, and she smiled back, tossing her head to shake hair out of her face.

He tilted his head, suddenly uncertain.

"You don't think you'll have to tell him all the gory details to convince him why you're with me?" he asked warily.

Her eyes widened, and then softened quickly, and she shook her head, squeezing his shoulders.

"No," she murmured. "No, no – Han, I," she paused, swallowing hard. "Han, I think I would have fallen in love with you in any universe. No matter what happened. I'm not...I'm not only with you because I think I'm too damaged for anyone else."

His brows went up, and he ran his thumb over her jawline, humbled for a moment. He shook his hair, and she made a face as droplets of water cascaded on her. He grinned.

"That's what I like to hear," he drawled, leaning in to kiss her.

She laughed quietly, kissing him back, but gently pushed him away. He gave her a mildly annoyed look and went in for another kiss, targeting her throat when she tilted her head up to escape.

"Han," she laughed. "You'll get me all wet."

"That's the idea," he murmured in her ear.

Leia blushed and lowered her head to his shoulder, resting her arms around his neck limply.

"You're so filthy," she hissed, scandalized.

He grinned, pressing a capitulatory kiss to her ear and pulling back a little, perhaps only surrendering so he could see the prudish pink tint to her cheeks – damn, he loved her; everything about her. When she was screaming at him for some asinine stunt he pulled on the Falcon, and when she was in his arms like this, all his, and his alone.

She gave him a deceptively sympathetic look.

"Maybe if you had woken me up when you got home, we'd have time for this," she teased.

"Is that a challenge?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Two hours is a lot of time."

"More than you need."

"Hey! When have I ever – "

"Tatooine?"

"Oh, c'mon, I'd been in carbonite for a year –"

Leia sighed, shaking her head at him, exasperated. She bit back a grin.

"No time," she insisted. "Hair," she reminded him.

"Here, let me comb it for you," he said, lifting his hands and sliding them back through her dark locks suggestively.

"Han," she growled, leaning back. " _Han_!" she squealed, trying to sound stern, but bursting into laughter instead. She lowered her head and allowed him a few kisses before sternly straightening her shoulders and composing herself, pressing her knees pointedly into his sides.

"I want this to go well," Leia said, placing her palms on his chest and gently holding him at arm's length. Well – it was really at wrist's length – when she pushed, he didn't move far. He smirked at her, running his hands over her legs.

"Hey," he said. "I make excellent first impressions."

The look on her face was priceless – a winning mixture of dubious, doubtful, and downright mocking, and he laughed, clearly remembering his first impression on her – and on Luke, for that matter. On anyone, really. Han's idea of a great first impression was everyone else's idea of 'he grows on you.'

"She's all but my sister, Han," Leia went on earnestly, and to that, he nodded.

He had no intention of doing anything that would recommend him poorly to Winter Retrac, especially since he knew how much she meant to Leia. He refrained from pointing out that Leia's people – people, in this instance, meaning those who revered her as a Princess – tended to doubt him, or discount him, on their own, even if he was perfectly well behaved.

Leia sighed quietly, her hands falling from his shoulders, resting loosely on her knees.

"Do you know what I needed more than anything in those years after Alderaan?" she asked him quietly, reflecting on how lonely she'd been – there were so many unimaginable dimensions to the kind of loss she'd suffered then.

"Me?" he suggested, ducking his head and kissing her shoulder.

He sensed her rolling her eyes, and she leaned back out of reach of his lips, bracing her arms behind her. The back of her head rested lightly against the mirror as she eyed him wryly, and arched an eyebrow.

"I don't even need you now," she said coolly. "You're painfully annoying," she retorted.

He gave her a winning pout, and she bit back a smile. She sat forward again, slowly, her shoulders hunching forward. She twisted her hands in her lap.

"I needed a best friend," she said. "A girl to talk to."

She'd never quite gotten anything like that back. The women in the leadership were colleagues; she respected them, and was friendly with them, but she didn't stay up all night gossiping with them, or watching racy movies on the forbidden channels just to see what the fuss was about. The women in the rank and file answered to her command, and forming friendships within that power dynamic was infinitely difficult – and besides, she'd been so terrified of connecting emotionally after Alderaan, that it was a miracle she ever opened up to Han.

"You could have talked to me," he pointed out. "We coulda got this," he gestured between them, "rolling a lot faster."

She blushed.

"No, I needed someone to talk to about girl stuff."

"I like girls."

" _You_ were the stuff I needed to talk about," she said, exasperated – there were times she had needed Winter so, so badly. Winter would have helped her work through what she was feeling about Han – and if she couldn't help all the way, Winter would have nicked a bottle of wine and convinced Leia that whatever she said when she was drunk was how she really felt – maybe if she'd had Winter, the whole process of surrendering to Han wouldn't have been so troublesome.

He arched his brows and smirked at her.

"I knew I was getting under your skin," he gloated. "Even then."

"Yes; exactly like a parasite," she retorted dryly.

"Now, Your Highness," he admonished sternly. "That's not very diplomatic."

"Shut up, Han," she laughed softly, slipping her arms around his neck. Her eyes met his fervently. "This is important to me," she reiterated.

It was a test case, really – she viewed it as such, he _knew_ she viewed it as such. Other than her Aunt Rouge and Bail, Winter was the most important person from her past life, and her opinion of Han – her reaction to him – would help Leia gauge how her guardians would react, and it would give her experience in integrating the two worlds. She was desperate to reconnect with Winter, and she could talk more freely with Winter about what Bail might think about Han.

Han nodded, and touched his forehead to hers briefly. He kissed her quickly and stepped back, ruffling his hand thoughtfully in his damp hair – she was right; he needed to get dressed and start cooking, and she needed to get ready. He held out his hand, and helped her down from the sink.

"Chewie's out with Luke," Han said suddenly, remembering her earlier question. He slipped past her and headed for the closet. "Said they might stop by later."

"I'd like that," Leia said, reaching for the zipper that ran down the side of her gown. It was cleverly concealed among the flowy material, and she tugged on it gently, careful not to rip anything. She smiled fleetingly. "I could pair them up and merge my adoptive family with my biological one," she joked dryly.

"Not so fast, that pilot, Dansra? She's after Luke," Han snorted. "She said – listen, Leia – "

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"No, really listen – this is _great_ – she said that _Luke_ , _kid_ Luke, is some kind of legend –"

"Oh, the nurses. Yes, I know."

Han, holding a clean shirt in his hand, turned and stared at her, affronted.

"How did _you_ know?"

"Women talk."

"You talked about that kind of stuff with alliance nurses?" Han asked skeptically.

"No, but I spent a lot of time in hospitals," Leia pointed out, "and there was a time when Luke and I didn't know we were related, and people thought we were a good match, so there were times when I was – um, I was told it would be worth my while," she said. After a moment, she wrinkled her nose, pursing her lips. "I _really_ didn't care to hear about Luke's sexual exploits."

Han furrowed his brow, and made a face – he could imagine why. Even if he wasn't her brother, Leia wasn't amenable to vulgar conversation, at least not in that sense, and not with mere acquaintances.

"Well, Dansra or Winter, I do wonder sometimes if he'd like to find someone," she trailed off, pausing with the zipper on the other side. She frowned, hesitating, and then looked up, watching Han button up his shirt and shrug a vest on.

"Vader," she blurted, her eyes wide.

"What?" Han asked sharply. He glanced at her, and did a double take. "What about 'im?"

"Father – he knows, he obviously knows," Leia said, swallowing hard. "Winter won't know. About Vader. We've put it out publicly that Luke and I are siblings but – Vader – "

Han crossed the room, straightening his vest, and caught her eye, shaking his head.

"Leia, she won't care."

"You don't know that. You don't know her," Leia said quickly, compressing her lips.

Han frowned.

"No," he agreed. "I don't. You don't have to get into that tonight, you know," he reminded her. "And look, Leia…" he broke off, and sighed, unsure how to proceed – he'd never been particularly good with words, not like she was. "When you told me, about Vader?" he said, folding his arms. "Remember?"

She nodded.

"Remember what I said?"

She laughed, a choked, soft little sound, and nodded.

" _Rough deal_ ," she quoted hoarsely.

He smiled sheepishly, and shrugged. It hadn't been elegant – but he'd been in shock, and he didn't think anything he said was going to make her feel better – and of course, he'd said more than _just_ that in the moments following.

"'Cause that's all I thought," he swore. "Didn't even cross my mind to think less of _you_ until you asked me if I was still in. I just felt terrible that you had to deal with that."

She smiled a little, thoughtfully lowering the zipper the rest of the way. She reached up to her neck, fiddling with the back of the dress until a button came loose, and then she loosened some of the elaborate ribbon work.

"You can't help who your parents are," he said flatly.

The mere idea of telling people, even Winter, even those very close to her, still made her skittish, but on some logical level deep down she knew he was right – she couldn't blame herself, nor could anyone else blame her, for an accident of birth. Someday, when it all came out, she was sure some people would – but Han was no doubt right about those close to her; they'd never write her off because of it.

"Dinner will go fine, Leia," he said confidently, his gaze decidedly not focused on her face – he was impatiently waiting for her to drop the dress to the floor.

She held the material up a moment longer and then let it fall, moving her shoulders when necessary to get the dress to drop down the rest of her body so she could step out of it. Left in nothing but the undergarments she'd been wearing, she stepped away from the pooled material and basked for a moment in Han's admiring gaze before she stepped into the bathroom and hid herself behind the door.

"Hang that up, will you?" she requested sweetly. "Too bad you already showered," she sighed.

He gave her a pained look – was she really going to take the rest off behind closed doors – ?

Leia flashed him a smug smile and shut the door with a soft click. He heard the water running, and he raised his eyes to the ceiling – _kriff_ she could be a tease sometimes, and it always caught him so off guard, considering her usually demure nature. Like the time he came back from work one evening to find her posed on the couch in his vest, and absolutely nothing else. He took a moment, again, to relish the fact that he got to have Leia like no one else ever saw her.

* * *

Despite her concerns about the alleged lack of time Han had allowed her by letting her sleep, Leia did manage to situate her hair in a way that satisfied her almost perfectly. She'd abandoned the intricate, tight braids she usually favored – she'd gotten into the habit of binding her hair up as close to her head as possible while serving in the Rebellion, and that habit had stuck – and chosen to go for a style she'd worn often at the University of Alderaan – before she was a senator, and subject to ceremonial dress.

She used carefully placed pins to pull half of it up, and then used a wand to curl some of it and let it fall down over her shoulders. It was simple, but it also had the effect of looking unusually glamorous and blown out; her father used to tell her, grumpily, that it looked slightly overdramatic – his word for _too sexy_ – when she wore it like that.

Of course, sixteen-year-old Leia had just smiled sweetly at him and said: "Good."

When twenty-four-year-old Leia asked Han how it looked, he glared at her and told her it wasn't fair for her to look like that when they were having company and he couldn't do anything about it. She took that as approval, and paired the hairstyle with a sleeveless, high-necked red blouse and black pants.

"I see you put on your nicest ten thousand year old vest," she remarked, searching idly through the cabinet for liquor to offer.

"You want me to go put on the one that's only nine thousand years old?" he retorted smartly.

Leia smiled, studying the label of a white wine punch from Naboo. She shook her head, and glanced over at the ensemble. Han had two kinds of clothing: smuggler chic, and New Republic military uniform. He wouldn't be caught dead in his dress uniform unless he was at a formal function, which essentially left only one option.

"I'm only teasing," she murmured, now examining the label of something Chewbacca had given her last month. She uncorked the top and smelled it, her brow furrowing. "Is this even okay for humans?" she muttered under her breath. She replaced it, and pulled a safe bottle of Corellian red towards her.

"I'll go put my uniform on if you go take your clothes off," he suggested, shooting her a devilish look.

She sighed, focusing pointedly on the label of the wine bottle.

"I don't know what's gotten into you tonight," she chastised primly. "You act like you're deprived."

"You came out dressed like that!" he accused.

"This is a _demure_ outfit, Han."

"It's the hair," he whined. She looked like one of those nymphs from ancient fairy stories; the ones that only wore strategically placed leaves for clothing.

"You can wait," Leia told him, batting her lashes.

He glared at her, and she laughed, stepping away from the counter. He could have such a one track mind – and why it had to be tonight, when she wanted him to really impress Winter –

"You're very spoiled, you know," she said.

"Am not," he retorted. "You've been turnin' me down all afternoon."

"It isn't as if it's been days since we've had _sex_ , Han - "

"It feels like it," he lamented dramatically.

"Oh really? Then would you kindly tell me who I was with this morning?"

He grinned at her roguishly.

"That doesn't count; I was half asleep."

She feigned a highly affronted look.

"Well I'm _sorry_ I'm so _boring – "_

He crossed the kitchen in two strides, catching her face in his hands. He looked down at her sternly, his thumbs drawing little circles on her jaw.

"There's nothing boring about you," he said huskily.

Suddenly her exasperation with his advances melted away, and she nearly forgot why she kept putting him off in the first place – it did feel like it had been forever, come to think of it, and if his eyes kept glittering at her like that she was just going to melt at his feet like, like –

"Stop looking at me like that," she whispered.

"Like what?" he asked, all his concentration clearly focused on continuing to look at her _like that._ "You'd better get used to it, Your Highness. I'll be lookin' at you like this for the rest of your life."

She blushed, shivers creeping down her spine – good shivers, infinitely good shivers. She had no time to formulate a response; the bell to their apartment rang. She gave a small gasp – a sharp intake of breath, really, and stared at Han, eyes wide.

"You going to get that?" he prompted.

"My face will be all red," she hissed, though she stalled because she was anxious, nervous – because this was the moment someone from her old, destroyed life was going to meet Han for who he really was – not a Republic General, not a hero of the Rebellion, but _her_ Han. And on top of that – she'd hardly had a moment alone with Winter since the rescue.

She cleared her throat and stepped away, leaving him in the kitchen – he said dinner was all but ready; he was just waiting on the cut of meat in the oven. She was infinitely glad he was cooking; if he hadn't offered, she'd have hired someone, because the one thing her many tutors and mentors hadn't thought it would be useful to train her in was culinary arts. She'd learned to cook enough to survive in the trenches, but she wasn't particularly talented in that department.

Moments later, she stood at the door, her palm lingering over the access pad. With a quiet, deep breath, she authorized it to open, and found herself face to face with Winter. Winter wasted no time in giving her a smile – her icy blue eyes glittered, and she nearly threw herself over the threshold into a hug.

Leia stumbled back from the force of it, generally used to a more reserved Winter – but when she steadied herself, she hugged back fiercely, pressing her face into Winter's shoulder. The door slid shut, and after a moment Winter lunged back, pushing her shimmery blonde hair back – she'd woven ribbons throughout hers, very much like she used to.

"I've wanted to do that since the moment I saw you," Winter said, holding Leia's shoulders tightly. "But there were always so many people, or cameras, and even after years on a ship, I can't break the habit – "

"Dignity, girls, always _dignity_!" Leia mimicked her father impeccably, and Winter hugged her again, looser this time, and quicker.

"You look wonderful," Winter said earnestly. "Aunt Rouge can't stop talking about it, you know. We're inundated with the political developments and the reality we missed and Aunt Rouge pesters Pasha to death on how different you look – "

"Different? And what does he say?" Leia asked, almost worriedly.

"Oh, he ignored Rouge; you know he always does – he said it's hardly surprising you look like your mother, though that might be an indication the pressure is getting to him – you don't look a thing like Breha."

Leia pursed her lips curiously – interesting slip of her father's indeed – who was it she looked like, exactly? She filed the thought away for later, reminding herself to mention it to Luke. She took Winter's hands and squeezed them.

"Father, crack under pressure?" she asked skeptically.

Winter laughed quietly, her face somber for a moment. She sighed.

"He's been through so much," she said.

"So have you," Leia remarked quietly – she'd been through the same; the planet's destruction, the long exile on the lost ship.

Winter lifted her shoulders as if to ask – _what can be done?_ – and shook her head, returning Leia's look.

"As if you haven't?" she asked softly. She licked her lips. "I've read it all. You know I can't forget it. You did it, Leia. The Empire, destroyed."

"It wasn't just me," she said. "We all paid a heavy price," she added, pausing thickly for a moment. She shook her head slightly. "This isn't what tonight is for, Winter – that's all you've been getting lately; it's all I've been reliving," she said.

"Ah, I know," Winter said earnestly. "This is a – oh, hello," she broke off politely, removing her hands from Leia's automatically – it was a reaction to unfamiliar presence; Winter, like Leia, had been trained to refrain from showing affection and intimacy in the presence of non-family members. Leia watched as Winter's shoulders straightened elegantly, and she inclined her head patiently, waiting.

Leia turned slightly, angling herself so she could look between the two of them easily – Han had come down the hall, and he leaned against the wall silently – Leia guessed she should have better planned the logistics of how this was going to go _exactly_ , particularly since she hadn't actually told Winter it would be more than just her.

Leia narrowed her eyes at Han for his casual appearance, and he shrugged – he'd felt shady just idling in the kitchen, like he was hiding – or eavesdropping. He returned Winter's mildly curious gaze, and after a moment she looked at Leia quizzically. Leia took her elbow and pulled her towards Han, inclining her head.

"Winter, this is Han Solo," she said neutrally, stopping in front of him – Winter was taller than her, and didn't need to tilt her head up so much to study Han. "He's joining us for dinner."

Winter nodded simply.

"Yes, I know who he is," she said, extending her hand. "He rescued us. Even an average mind wouldn't forget," she remarked, clasping Han's hand in both of hers once he accepted the handshake. She smiled, reserved. "General Han Solo, commissioned before the Battle of Endor. One of the first to accept a commission in the interim, and then coalition, Republic military."

"He doesn't like the title," Leia remarked lightly. She'd introduced him without it to keep Winter from calling him _general_. Everything about the military reminded him of his illusion-shattering Imperial Academy experience, and the hierarchy was the worst part; Han didn't even like those serving under him addressing him with reverence. That and – if she didn't introduce him officially, maybe Winter would take the hint that he wasn't here in any official capacity.

"It's an honorable title," Winter said, squeezing his hand before retracting hers and holding them in front of her gracefully. "Particularly for someone whose original claim to fame was making the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs."

Han arched his eyebrow and glanced at Leia; she held up her hands.

"I didn't prep her."

"She didn't," Winter agreed amicably. Without looking once at the bloodstripe on his trousers, she continued. "Corellian, court martialed from the Imperial Academy for intervening on a slave's behalf, unscrupulous smuggler turned slightly less unscrupulous freedom fighter," her eyes narrowed critically, "instrumental in the destruction of the first Death Star and," she paused somewhat dramatically, "one-point-eight meters tall."

Han glanced at Leia again, and noticed she was giving Winter a withering look.

"You scare people when you do that, you know," she said. "That hasn't changed." Winter smiled, and Leia turned to Han, folding her arms. "She has an eidetic memory; photographic, and autographic," Leia informed him. "She remembers everything she sees and hears. No exceptions."

Han eyed her warily for a moment and then said, somewhat callously:

"That sounds like a curse."

To his surprise, Winter's face brightened, almost delighted.

"It is an absolute curse," she said, and before he could question why she was so pleased with his opinion, she went on: "You are one of the only people to recognize that. Most people envy me."

"Yeah, well I got things I'd like to forget."

"As do I, General Solo."

"Just Han," Leia reminded her.

Winter inclined her head to acknowledge that, and turned to Leia, pursing her lips matter-of-factly.

"You knew I'd remember him," she said. "Why are you introducing us?" she asked simply.

Leia bowed her head a brief moment and looked back up, holding Winter's gaze carefully. Winter tilted her head, waiting, and Leia cleared her throat softly.

"I'm not introducing him as a public figure," she told her. "Han lives here."

Winter blinked.

"Are you still a prime target for assassination?" she asked, looking at Han, but speaking to Leia.

"Am I…what?"

"Is he a live-in bodyguard?"

Han laughed, genuinely amused – she'd just read a file full of fairly significant assignments he'd had over the past year of the New Republic, and she asked if his current responsibility was babysitting an Ambassador? It was entertaining – though he hoped it didn't indicate she was about to freak out when Leia corrected her.

"He's not a _bodyguard_ , Winter," Leia retorted.

" _Well_ ," began Han suddenly, only to be given an icy glare by Leia.

"If you make an offensive joke, I will shoot you."

He shut his mouth. Winter looked at him with interest for a moment.

"Winter, are you being deliberately dense?" Leia quipped.

Winter abruptly arched one eyebrow suggestively, and glanced away from Han, her face turning a slight pink. She inched over towards Leia, ducking behind her and resting her chin on her shoulder. She wasn't being dense, she just hadn't wanted to make assumptions that offended Leia. Comically, she stared at Han with wide eyes for a moment, an almost school-girlish look, and she turned her face toward Leia's ear.

"Is he your lover?"

Leia lifted her eyes to the ceiling. She nodded.

Winter looked at him critically, her cool eyes intent. She still grasped Leia's shoulders, clearly somewhat unsure how to proceed – she looked torn between decorum and dragging Leia aside and asking her a thousand questions. Han looked back at her for a moment, and then flicked his eyes to Leia silently – should he say something?

"This wasn't in the file," Winter said abruptly.

"The briefs were strictly political and informative," Leia said, gently shaking Winter off. She stepped away and tilted her head at her. "Personal information wasn't necessary."

"Reading General Solo's file was like reading an action novel. This would have made it better," Winter retorted. She paused. "Unless it's a _secret_." She stepped closer to Leia again. "Is it a secret?" she hissed, eyeing Han curiously. "Are you a secret, General?"

"It's not a secret," Han answered. "She's too famous for it to be a secret."

"Oh, but wouldn't you know that we learned the art of discretion at a very tender age," Winter responded smartly.

Han arched his brows at Leia. Leia flushed, and gave Winter a mildly annoyed look – well, at least she seemed to be taking it well.

"The media has currently been focused on resurrected Alderaanians," she said, "or it would have been the first thing you saw on the holos – it's one of the reasons the information you've been inundated with has been somewhat controlled so far."

"Reading between the lines, I take that to mean Pasha doesn't know," Winter deducted correctly.

Leia took a deep breath, letting it out quietly.

"Pasha?" Han grunted, wary. Was there someone _else_ important he had to be evaluated by?

"It's - Alderaanian for, ah," Leia paused, trying to translate appropriately. "Uncle, sort of, but more an affectionate term for a guardian who is unrelated by blood - it's what she calls Father," she murmured - Alderaanian culture had terms for foster parents that were used when the child remembered their biological parents and didn't want them replaced in word or deed. Leia swallowed, and shook her head, turning to Winter.

"He's – immensely overwhelmed," she said tensely. "I didn't think it was the most pertinent thing at the moment. Acclimating the lot of you to the new world order takes precedence – '

Winter was nodding, a mischievous glint in her eyes, though she kept her face solemn.

"I understand, Leia, I wouldn't want to tell him about my ravishing, scoundrel paramour, either," she said, deadpan.

Leia glared at Winter through her lashes – but she had to bite back a genuine smile, because even as the other woman teased her, she felt comforted, she felt like she was home; she'd missed having a friend – a sister – and her worries that they'd be strangers, fractured forever, were evaporating with every word out of Winter's mouth, every smug twitch of her lips. Still, she felt she had to reiterate –

"It isn't a secret," Leia said earnestly. "Han's permanent. I just know that…it will all be a shock. It's," she paused – she couldn't decide how her father was going to react; he was a good man with an open mind and a deep belief in the value of people's actions over their social standing, but he was also a descendant of a line of dignified monarchs, and she wasn't sure – "In his mind, time hasn't passed. I'm still nineteen."

"In all of our minds, Leia," Winter said, her voice shaking slightly. "The malfunctions on that ship and the cosmic fluctuations – we had no idea we were stranded for five years, we couldn't imagine – everything is still so fresh," she finished, the glint in her eyes fading. She grasped Leia's hands, and then looked over at Han. "I wondered why Bail wasn't here tonight," she said, more to Han than anything. "I think he was…disconcerted that he hadn't been asked, when I mentioned it, but I understand," she looked back to Leia. "I've never seen him like this. It's like he doesn't know who he is."

Leia nodded; she understood all too well how that felt – it was everything she'd gone through after the Battle of Yavin, when she'd been a displaced refugee of a lost planet, somewhere between damsel in distress and soldier, unsure what her path was going to be. She felt a pang of guilt to hear her father had been unnerved not to receive an invite, but when she'd seen him yesterday he had been in a bad place, and she just wasn't sure he was ready.

Han cleared his throat.

"He's got a hell of a talent for hiding it," he said dryly, thinking of the Bail Organa he'd met on the ship – commanding presence, a trustworthy face, clearly in control of his people and his person.

Winter nodded.

"He'd never show weakness among those he leads," she said quietly, and Han turned his eyes on Leia thoughtfully a moment – the trait sounded familiar to him. While he looked at her, trying to discern silently if she thought he was making a good impression, Winter leaned closer and said something unintelligible to Leia – and it was only when Leia's expression clearly indicated she'd comprehended that Han realized Winter was speaking Alderaanian.

When after a moment of heavy silence, Leia answered in her native tongue, Han's jaw nearly dropped – he'd never heard her speak Alderaanian before. To his knowledge, she hadn't spoken it since the day of the Disaster, not to him, not to Carlist Rieekan – not to anyone. He didn't comprehend what she said, of course, but it seemed like such a good thing for her – and it made him happy, somewhere deep in his chest, because he knew how much the pain of losing her home could devastate her, and finding the strength to speak the language again had to be something beautiful.

"Hey," he spoke up gruffly. "Anyone ever tell you that's impolite?"

"I'll repeat it in Basic," Winter said archly.

"She asked if you can leave now so we can talk about you," Leia supplied.

Han looked taken aback.

"You're kicking me out?" he asked, affronted.

Leia gave him a brilliant smile that was somehow hesitant, and somehow hopeful. She approached him and put her hands on his chest in surprisingly intimate gesture, considering they had company. Her back to Winter, she gave him a wildly appreciative look, and shook her head.

"No," she corrected. She couldn't seem to stop smiling. "Finish dinner, is all."

He feigned suspicion, and then snorted.

"Yeah, I'm just your personal chef, I get it," he said – he had finishing touches to see to, anyway, and he'd caught the tail end of some of Winter and Leia's conversation earlier; she sounded so at peace, and right now, she looked excited, eager, and he wanted her to embrace that.

He held up his hands and then, boldly, leaned down and pressed a swift kiss to her temple before shooting Winter one last glance and retreating back to oversee dinner – he'd pick some better liquor than she'd distractedly selected, too.

Leia watched Han retreat, and held out her hand, gesturing that Winter should proceed with her into the living room. Winter looked around at the apartment with interest, her gaze lingering on the expansive balcony window before she sat down on the sofa next to Leia. She reached out and placed one hand on Leia's knee.

"Is he really your lover?" she asked in a hushed voice. Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

Leia felt her face get hot.

" _Yes_ , Winter."

"He's very good-looking."

Leia gave her an amused look, inclining her head politely.

"Well, I can't take credit for that, but thank – "

"No, Leia, he's really _incredibly_ handsome," Winter went on insistently. "He looks like a—a—a holovid star."

Leia sighed, biting back a smile.

"Winter, please – don't tell him that," she requested a bit dryly. She arched one brow lightly. "And are you implying it's a shock I snared someone that attractive?"

Winter laughed good-naturedly.

"Not at all, I'm thinking of all the eligible bachelors your aunts and your father plied you with back on Alderaan – _none_ of them looked like _that_ ," she reminded Leia.

Leia did smile, but it was a somewhat sad one. Those eligible men from Alderaan – all of them were dead, and the ones from the Imperial courts had never turned her head, anyway. She didn't quite feel ready to tell Winter about what a scene she'd made at the reception for the Hapes delegation – Winter had always had quite the crush on that prince.

"He's much older than you," Winter said curiously.

"It doesn't feel like so much," Leia said quietly. "He grew up slower than I did. It's like we met in the middle," she reflected. Han had struggled in his youth, to be sure, but when she said he grew up slower, she meant he grew up free, and wild, and he'd never had the weight of a thousand lives on his shoulders.

Winter pulled her hand back, and looked over her shoulder.

"I should have known, from reading his file – from reading yours," she sighed. "There weren't more than two or three missions you didn't run together. Him, Chewbacca, and Luke Skywalker," she remembered.

"We racked up quite the expensive bounty," Leia said dryly. "Han had bounties from the Empire and the Outer Rim gangsters."

"What an honor," Winter laughed. She leaned back tensely, resting her cheek on her hand. "He volunteered to come for us, they say," she said. "Did he do it for you?"

"It's a complicated story," Leia deflected.

"I want to hear it all from you; not from a file – all of it," Winter said quickly. "The courtship, everything," she continued. "I'm so starved for the kind of conversation we used to have – "

"Oh, Winter, you have no idea – "

"I do, though, I do," she reminded Leia. "I feel torn between needing to know everything that's happened and gone on and to take a position in the government and wanting to sit in a room with you and be teenagers again."

Leia looked at her defenselessly.

"I'll never feel like a teenager again," she said, apologetic.

Winter took her hand again.

"Neither of us will," she agreed. She took a deep breath, and sighed, squeezing Leia's fingers. "I knew you were in trouble when they told us you were dead," she lamented. "Pasha did, too. While we were stranded, we worried – in his wildest dreams, he didn't think they'd ignore your diplomatic immunity, he didn't," she said. "I thought he was being naïve," she broke off.

"It happened a long time ago," Leia said quietly. "All of it. He – needn't blame himself. It wasn't anyone's fault – "

"Oh, he thinks it was," Winter said. "Leia, I don't want to start off this night badly, but if I were you – I know you," she said quickly. "I know how things weigh on you; I can turn my brain off because I have to, but you don't – you never do. I've been told Luke Skywalker is your brother – "

"I know that," Leia said quizzically, her voice soft. "It's in the file."

"Yes," Winter agreed. "But I didn't learn that from the file. Pasha told me. On one of those long days on that ship, he told me who Luke Skywalker is, and he told me who you are, so if you're sitting there thinking about how to tell me – I already know," she assured her. "About," she looked over her shoulder, leaned forward, and lowered her voice. "About Anakin Skywalker."

Leia said nothing, her shoulders set stiffly. She looked at Winter silently for a long time, and then cleared her throat.

"You know who Anakin Skywalker became?"

Winter nodded, and Leia didn't know how she felt – relieved, horrified, embarrassed? Betrayed, even – betrayed, because no matter what the circumstances were, her Father had broken down and confessed this to Winter, to Winter, but he'd never thought to tell her – even when he sent her up against the Sith Lord himself; even when he saw her off to the Senate in the midst of them.

"Don't you see?" Winter asked. "In his eyes, it's all his fault. It's why he asked you to head the mission with Ben Kenobi. He thought you were safe from Vader."

Leia looked at her with a blank expression, and turned her hand over, clasping Winter's fingers.

"I don't want to discuss this," she said simply. "But you - you needn't whisper; Han knows."

She couldn't think about that right now – she couldn't think about how much of a pawn she'd been. It was – it wasn't a shock that she'd had a part to play, as a Princess she'd always known that, but she was on the verge of realizing she'd had less control over her destiny than she'd ever thought, and it brought her dangerously close to seeing her father as a puppet master. She'd hardly - she'd hardly ever blame him for the things Grand Moff Tarkin had authorized, but to even begin to think he might have been cavalier with her – but no; he couldn't have been – he hadn't expected her to be intercepted, captured.

"Leia?" Winter asked softly.

Leia shook her head, her hair dancing down her back.

"I've been carefully controlling the environments my father and I meet in," she said. "You know that – I've wanted to ease everyone into it – you, him, Aunt Rouge," she listed. "It's for political reasons, as well as personal," she explained. "My life is so…different. Finding out about – Vader," she said, "it changed the way I – viewed a lot of things. And now, discovering you all alive," she paused. "Don't think I'm unhappy to have you back," Leia finished shakily.

"I _don't_ ," Winter assured her. "He's older than us. He's less resilient," she said smartly. "When Alderaan exploded, everything fell apart, his carefully laid plans – whatever they were, whatever he and Ben Kenobi were colluding on – they didn't foresee that. You're scared of what he's going to think."

" _Yes_ ," Leia said emphatically.

She leaned forward, putting her other hand over Winter's.

"I asked you here to feel out the reaction – you've been with him, and you've had the same mind set as him, and the others," she explained. "There's so much that I need to discuss with Father, and the added – pressure of what he might think of – "

"General Solo?"

"Yes," she agreed in a small voice. "General Solo," she murmured. "Winter?" she asked. "What will he think?"

Winter shook her head.

"I can't answer that, Leia," she sighed. "General Solo has – his record is stunning, and Pasha was never much of a snob or an elitist," she mused. "But I don't know. He's really lost. And I have to ask – because even when you're at the Embassy or the Senate, you're not wearing white – are you married to him?"

The question felt absurd to Leia for some reason, and it brought out a smile. She shook her head, and laughed wryly.

"We're not married," she said, her shoulders relaxing. "Though I suspect – well, he mentioned it would be easier if we were," she joked softly. "Mon Mothma and the others have been trying to make a match with me, but I'm not – well, as I told you earlier; Han is permanent."

" _Is_ he going to marry you?" Winter asked.

Leia hesitated – she'd never even told Luke that she and Han had agreed to get married, and she'd rarely discussed it with Han since that fateful moment on Corellia. Something stalled her for a moment, something simple, and oddly innocent – she'd always dreamed her engagement announcement would be different than this. Still, she found no point in lying to Winter, and no real reason to put off the answer.

"He's asked me to marry him, yes," she answered finally. "I've told him I will." She paused. "We've been…cleaning up the dregs of the Empire. There just hasn't been time."

Winter looked at her thoughtfully a moment, and then smiled brilliantly.

"But that's so exciting!" she nearly shrieked, yanking Leia's hands forward. "Oh, Leia, I can't tell you what Pasha's going to say – it might be a shock for him, since General Solo's – but who cares about his background, from all I've seen he's a good man and you get to marry for _love_!" Winter looked at her excitedly. "Did you ever think that would happen? _Purely_ for love?" Winter swallowed quickly and kept going. "I know there are more important things in the world right now, but – you're going to _marry_ someone!"

Winter's wonder and excitement was infections, and until this point, it wasn't something Leia had dwelled on – there was too much struggle in the world. She smiled at Winter though, her face lighting up, and she nodded – no, she'd never quite imagined being married to someone she chose with no strings attached, without even the _slightest_ political reason behind it; and while she might have dreamt of fairytale love while she was a small child, by the time she was in her teens she'd been almost cynical, ambitious – and far too aware of her duty to House Organa.

"In spite of everyone," Leia assured her. "You'll like him when you get to know him, Winter," she said.

"I already like him," Winter said seriously. "I trust your taste – tell me, is General Rieekan losing his mind? He was always so protective of you, even after you were of age – "

Leia laughed.

"No you – Carlist loves Han, he's – honestly, I got to know Carlist so differently while we worked together, sometimes I think Han convinced him to push us together – Jan Dodonna, on the other hand – "

"I imagine Threkin Horm is beside himself," Winter laughed.

"Mon Mothma doesn't like it either, but she's quite upset her plans to use me as a treaty with Hapes fell through."

"I would gladly disguise myself as you, as I have so many times before, and marry Isolder of Hapes if it comes to it," Winter said dramatically.

Leia grinned at her for a moment, and then lunged forward and hugged her, pulling her impossibly close – it was so wonderful to have her friend back, so much a balm for her soul to have this comradery again; she felt like bursting into tears, and she felt an optimistic elation – if things could be like they were with Winter, they could – they could be like this with her father, couldn't they?

Ah, but it was different, it was infinitely different. Her father had always found it difficult to let her grow up, at least when it came to her personal life, and to have to face it all in one rush rather than gradually – she just didn't know.

"I'll be on your side," Winter promised. "If he wants you to break things off with General Solo."

Leia nodded, but she pulled back.

"That won't be an option," she said simply, but firmly. Deep down, so much of her apprehension stemmed from the possibility that she might be asked to choose, and as she'd told Luke – her choice, though difficult, was already made; she loved Han, there was nothing unsuitable about him, and any disapproval from her father or others stemmed from places of prejudice, not righteous concern about Han's character.

Han had proved his integrity to the Alliance a hundred times over, and she wouldn't be disloyal to him – she wouldn't.

Not for anyone.

Clasping her hands, Leia swallowed hard.

"The Alderaanian Press Conference is in a few days," she said. "When that's said and done, when things settle with the media – there will be time for these things."

"Will you be there with us?" Winter asked. "There's been some uncertainty – "

"Mon Mothma and I are still discussing it," Leia said evasively. "We want to focus to be on Father and the few other high-ranking officials, and the press can be so aggressively interested in me," she paused. "I have a preparatory meeting with him tomorrow with the Alderaanian council – it's all been so impersonal so – "

"Strange," Winter breathed.

"Strange," Leia agreed. "The world turned upside down, again. Everything I thought I knew, everything I'd come to terms with," she shook her head, and threw up her hands, indicating an explosion.

Winter nodded slowly for a moment, but she smiled.

"But you won the war," she said, breathlessly. "No matter what unfolds next, it's in a world without the Empire."

Leia took a deep breath, and nodded – it was so optimistic, so refreshing, to look at it like that – and these moments with Winter were giving her strength, strength to face her father about the way her life had gone, strength to face all the questions she had to ask, and had to hear the answers for.

Han entered the room, clearing his throat pointedly.

"You drink, Winter?" he asked.

"Do I drink?" she repeated, arching pale brows. "General Solo, I spent five years on a ship with the same people, and no outside communication. I could drink for the rest of my life."

Han smirked.

"Get in here, then, there's dinner and some of that infamous Malastare moonshine on the table."

Winter rose, giving Leia a sly look, and Leia followed, folding her arms as she followed Winter towards Han. Leia gave him a gentle, appreciative look over her friend's shoulder, and Winter stopped in front of Han, glancing down at his trousers.

"The Corellian bloodstripe is infamous," she remarked, "even without the eidetic memory, I'd have pinpointed your home planet."

"Is that so?" Han retorted.

Winter inclined her head, and shot Leia a look wickedly.

"Of course," she said. "I saw it constantly growing up."

"Winter," Leia admonished suddenly, blushing. She realized in a second where Winter was going with this story.

"Hasn't Leia told you about her childhood fascination with the Corellian holo-drama _Moonjockeys_?"

Han lifted his eyes slowly, gleefully, to Leia's mortified expression.

"No," he said carefully. "She definitely hasn't." He knew the drama – it was about Corellia's infamous pilots, a sickeningly over-hyped, glamorous, slightly soap-operatic romantic serial.

Winter put her arm out, grabbed Leia, and pulled her forward, hooking her elbow together.

"Well as we get to know each other, we'll have to see what else Leia hasn't told you," Winter teased.

Han folded his arms, and looked at Leia smugly.

"I like her," he asserted impishly.

Leia swallowed hard, and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Please remember," she threated softly, "that more often than not, Chewbacca takes my side."

Her meaning was clear – it would be easy to get the most embarrassing stories out of Chewie if she really wanted to. Han tipped his head in a gesture that seemed to acknowledge the challenge, and gestured for Winter to lead them into the kitchen. As she passed him, he reached out to Leia, pulled her to his side for a moment, and kissed her temple – this was one big step down; one leap on the way to really delving in to everything with her father, and regardless of what happened there, it made him fiercely happy to see a light in her eyes that had never quite been this bright since he'd known her, a light Winter seemed to have rekindled.

* * *

Buoyed by the pleasant way things had gone last night, Leia was in an unusually upbeat mood the next day while performing her duties. Rieekan and Luke both noticed it, primarily when she smiled twice during their meeting when she generally didn't smile at work at all, but they merely shared a look and didn't comment on it.

It was General Crix Madine, back on Coruscant on a brief leave from his station in the Western Reaches, who decided to put his foot in his mouth.

"I have to say, Princess, it's nice to see you so happy," Madine remarked, leaning forward to take the kaffe refill Luke had just offered him.

Rieekan had asked Madine in on a briefing about the Alderaanians, as there were a fair few Alderaanian refugees in the Western Reaches. He was set to take information back to them directly from Leia and the Alderaanian Council – he had several Alderaanians on his military staff, as well.

Leia looked at him neutrally and lowered her hand from her face; she'd been pressing her fingers thoughtfully to her lips while she read over the psych analysis of one of the oldest Alderaanians rescued.

"Do I usually look unhappy, Crix?" she asked.

He stared at her, and then shook his head hastily.

"No," he said.

Luke snorted. Leia gave him a look.

"Well, _unhappy's_ not the right word," Luke teased her. "More like bi – businesslike," he said, hastily changing his assessment mid-word.

Leia glared at him darkly, slightly amused by the scandalized look Tyr Taskeen had just shot Luke.

"What?" Luke asked him. "I'm her _brother_."

"This is an official meeting," Rieekan said sternly.

"No, it's not," Leia remarked. "When Horm leaves, we all drop the formalities," she added under her breath.

Rieekan and Luke exchanged amused glances again, and Rieekan found it hard to hold his tongue – Madine was right; she seemed extremely happy, and Carlist had the ridiculously childish urge to point at her, and grab Luke, or Tyr, or someone, by the shoulders and shout _'this is how she used to be!'_

Leia flicked through the file, and sighed, clearing her throat.

"These results are all over the place," she murmured.

"Yes, it's very…eye-opening," Tyr remarked, nudging his glasses up. He, along with several other scientists, were involved with all of the medical evaluations, physical and mental, of the Alderaanians, and he'd brought along psychological reports to the council meeting that had just officially ended.

"There seem to be varying degrees of acceptance," Leia remarked.

"Ah, yes," Tyr agreed again. "Even in those who guessed – who understood what had happened to Alderaan – the full realization now is weighing on them."

"Understandably," Luke said, sitting down. He stirred the kaffe he'd made himself. "They can't go _home_."

Leia, hardened to that realization already, said nothing as she closed the file and laid it gently on the table. She put her fingers back to her mouth thoughtfully, lightly brushing her lips, and then curled her hand into a fist, resting it on her shoulder.

"I can't recommend a generic way to ease that realization," she said, looking up and making eye contact with the Alderaanians first.

Tyr nodded, holding out his hand.

"Well, most of us wouldn't ask you too, it's too personal a thing," he mused quietly. "There's comradery in losing the planet, but individual grieving can't be given some sort of guideline, or code." He paused. "One of our psychologists is suggesting you speak to them specifically about that. A speech of some sort."

Leia looked at him patiently, listening.

"If they can see you surviving, hear how you got through it – "

"You say that as if I have," Leia interrupted quietly. She shook her head, looking away from him. Her eyes fell on a window in their conference room, and she shook her head again. "Tyr, you know what happens to survivors," she said.

"Yes," he agreed.

Leia lifted her eyes to the ceiling. Carlist set his jaw – he knew just as well as they did; either the survivors of Alderaan killed themselves, or they found a way to move on.

"It has barely been two weeks," Carlist said gently. "The adjustment period is more than just accepting the true reality of Alderaan's destruction, it's that on top of the Empire being gone, on top of being back in real time, in a world where their leader – has no power, essentially."

Leia considered him a moment. The Alderaanians were like their own faction; they'd been ruled by Bail Organa before, and these few survivors had exclusively been his people for the past five years – but now they were inundated with a structure in which he wasn't making decisions at all, and though she'd carefully tried to hide it, Leia was sure they had realized she was having difficulty relating.

She shook her head.

"Time," she muttered. "It's all just going to take time – the younger ones are more resilient," she noted. She tapped the stack of files. "That's why Winter is starting to thrive more quickly – for people like my Aunt Rouge, and Father – it's a double hit."

"There's nothing tangible we can do," Tyr said, rubbing his jaw. "We just keep supporting them – they'll pick up; they'll start living lives."

"It's imperative the network doesn't fail them," Rieekan said.

"It won't," Leia said. "House Organa's off-world holdings can fund housing, rehabilitation," she said. "That's simple. We'll administer to them the same way we have all of the diaspora – and Crix, I'm sending a complete roster with you. There's such a minimal chance anyone on your staff, or in the Reaches will know someone found alive, but there's no harm in trying. Particularly since several of those found had military training off-world – they may know the Alderaanians who joined our military after. If they do, you're to send them on personal leave immediately so they can see their friends or family."

What had happened to Alderaan had stricken a desire for revenge into so many of the survivors, but it hadn't cracked the pacifist shell of them all. Leia postulated that the ones most likely to know people who had accompanied her father to fight for her on the ill-fated day Alderaan exploded were the ones serving in arms.

Tyr Taskeen started to get up.

"I'll excuse myself – if you don't mind, I've actually got to go by the courts to testify," he trailed off, shaking his head angrily. Members of Tyr's family had been tortured by the Empire for information on his whereabouts; Leia knew the memory haunted him – like her, people he'd loved had been hurt by his decision to fight.

"Good luck," Carlist offered, as Tyr saluted hastily and went out.

Luke leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. He glanced around, and furrowed his brow.

"It's strange how quickly the media frenzy is dying," he remarked. "I haven't heard too much about Bail – "

"It's boring," Leia said flatly. "They survived, we rescued them, they're back, Alderaan is still gone – that's old news," she listed, "and until the press conference, while we're hiding them, the press doesn't care – it isn't salacious enough."

"They're also consumed with the War Crime Tribunals, even the trash channels," Madine pointed out. "Hell, the reports I have gotten in the Reaches haven't mentioned General Solo for four days."

"Four whole days?" Leia repeated dryly. She rolled her eyes and whistled under her breath.

Madine grinned.

"My troops are getting bored," he joked.

Leia arched an eyebrow, but his remark about bored troops reminded her of something, and she cleared her throat, gesturing between Rieekan and Madine.

"Can one of you tell me what this is about Han's assignment in the Western Reaches?" she asked carefully – she didn't want to come off like she was about to manipulate state issues for personal reasons, but Han's orders had come as somewhat of a surprise.

Apparently, Rieekan thought so, too, because he said:

"Huh?"

"I take it you didn't issue his orders?" Leia asked.

Madine frowned.

"I'm s'pose to be getting some reinforcements, but I didn't think it'd be another general," he said, slightly exasperated.

"I thought Han was on the ground here, in charge of fleet modifications," Leia went on. "When he finished the combat tour against Zsinj – "

"He…is," muttered Carlist, frowning. "Why would we send Solo to the Western Reaches? That mission is rooting out Imperial hideouts, its not actively hostile," he thought to himself.

Leia grit her teeth, and put her palms out, glancing at Luke tensely.

"I don't want to sound paranoid," she said grimly, although she sensed a pretty significant ulterior motive, "and you know I make it a point not to influence decisions based on my personal needs or desires, but because of that, I'll find it irritating," she said the word pointedly, "if I discovered someone else is manipulating things a certain way," she paused. "Do you understand, Carlist?"

"If you're asking me if Dodonna gave the order, he probably did," Rieekan said flatly. "As Commander in Chief, he's the only full-fledged general who outranks me, and I usually command Solo."

Leia compressed her lips – she'd suspected as much this morning when Han told her he'd been issued orders to the Reaches overnight.

"He might think he's doing you a favor," Rieekan tried. "Han can be pretty…volatile."

"If he was needed in the Reaches, I'd shut my mouth," Leia said sharply. She looked at Madine pointedly, and Crix laughed.

"I can handle the Western Reaches without Solo," he snorted. "They're not nearly as unstable and overrun as the Outer Rim, and Calrissian and Akbar have a pretty good handle on that – but if Dodonna wants to make his meddling less obvious, tell him to send Solo to the Outer Rim."

"We avoid sending Han to the Outer Rim officially," Luke spoke up seriously.

"Right," Madine muttered. "Why's that again?"

He'd forgotten that Solo usually only ended up back in his old stomping grounds if he was undercover or in his personal ship. He'd always thought it was odd, since Solo knew the area so well, but he never really questioned it.

Leia sighed dramatically.

"Because he owes everyone there money," she said, "and I'm tired of rescuing him."

Madine grinned broadly.

"Well, listen, if tellin' 'em I don't need reinforcements that grand won't work, tell 'em they can't put two Corellians in charge of one fleet," he drawled. "We'll end up dueling over our manhood and kill each other."

Luke laughed.

"That's an exaggeration," he said, at the same time Leia said: "Yeah, sounds about right."

Luke gave her a bemused look, and she tucked a strand of loose hair back into her braid, frowning at Rieekan for a moment.

"He's not put me in a very good position doing something like this, and I don't think Mon Mothma would enjoy it, regardless of what she thinks of Han. The last thing I need right now is Han off somewhere he isn't needed getting himself killed."

"Crix just said the Western Reaches are fine," Luke soothed.

Leia looked at him pointedly.

"And you know as well as I do that if Han is bored, he will get into something that will kill him."

"Eh, he usually comes out okay," Luke pointed out.

Leia rolled her eyes and sat back, shaking her head.

"Carlist, use whatever excuse sounds plausible – they need him for an award ceremony or something, for the rescue," she said.

"Princess, please don't make me give Solo another award," Carlist grimaced. "Once was enough."

"Just a fake award. Just pretend he's getting an award."

"Han'll love that," Luke snorted.

"Han will do what I tell him to do," Leia said menacingly.

Madine laughed, clearly content just to enjoy the exchange. He got up after a moment, brushing off his wrinkled uniform, and abandoning his kaffe mug on the table.

"I've got to stop by for a meeting with Viceroy Organa," he said. "Haven't seen him yet – what a miracle, you know?" he mused, stepping away.

He gave Luke and Rieekan formal salutes, and Leia a small bow, before he excused himself, and Rieekan, though reluctant, was the next to get up.

"I need to weasel in a meeting with Jan before he cements Solo's orders – I'm glad you brought that up, Leia – "

"If he thinks for one second it's for selfish reasons – "

"Who cares if it is?" Rieekan interrupted a bit sharply. "You recused yourself from the decision of whether to rescue your father," he snapped, though the irritation in his tone wasn't at her. "No one can question your integrity. And Han deserves to be around when you tell Bail about him." Rieekan paused. "You are planning on telling…?

"No," Leia said, deadpan. "I was going to keep it a secret forever."

Rieekan blinked at her, and then smiled.

"Very funny, Your Highness."

She smiled back lightly.

"Carlist, I'm not ashamed of Han," she said quietly. "If anyone else is, that's their problem."

Rieekan nodded, and bowed his head before exiting the room, leaving her alone with Luke. Her brother sipped his kaffe quietly for a moment, peering at Leia over the rim of the mug, and then set it down and blurted –

"Bail thinks Han is your personal pilot."

Startled, Leia blinked at Luke like he'd grown a second head, and then narrowed her eyes.

"And why would he think that?" she asked dangerously.

"Oh, I didn't tell him," Luke said hastily. "When I was – working with him, when he was first going over files, he assumed that. He said he came by your apartment and Han was there and he assumed he was your personal pilot."

Leia sat forward.

"What did you tell him, Luke?" she demanded.

" _Nothing_!" Luke whined. "I told him you trusted him, that's all. And that I trusted him. But," Luke tried not to smile, failed, and then covered his mouth with the kaffe mug to hide the second smile. "He is concerned that Han might be trying to seduce you without you realizing it."

Leia glared at him.

"I'm serious, he said that. He noticed Han doesn't call you by your title."

Leia continued to glare.

"Leia," Luke laughed, lowering his mug. "I'm not teasing, I'm _serious_!" Luke amused himself laughing for another moment, and then composed himself, feigning a concerned, serious look. "Have you considered that Han might be trying to seduce you?" he joked.

"He does keep getting into bed with me naked, but I hadn't thought anything of it."

Luke drew back, giving her a look.

"Ew, you made it less fun," he accused.

"I used to spar with the Emperor himself, Skywalker," she said coolly. "You will never win a verbal war with me."

Luke frowned mulishly, accepting that such a thing was probably true. Looking at him, Leia sighed, and looked down at her lap. She turned in her chair, and slowly leaned forward, cupping her hands around her chin and staring at Luke.

"He's doing alright, isn't he?" she asked.

Luke spent more time with him than she did, right now. She didn't know if she believed it was because she was busy, and they were trying to keep things running while also debriefing the Alderaanians, or because deep down she was avoiding him. Because she was scared of him, of her resentment of him, of what he'd think of her, and of feeling as emotionally out of control as she had when she'd first seen him again.

"He's more than ready for this press conference, Leia," Luke assured her. "There's not much left to figure out about it – just whether or not you're going to be there at his side, or watching from the sidelines."

The role reversal seemed so powerful when he said it, and maybe that's what had been bugging her all along. Her father was a child in this new world order, and she was the seasoned veteran, and she didn't know how to navigate that – not when he, clearly, still thought her a child – he had to, if he thought she'd be silly enough to not see flagrant seduction when it was parading around in front of her.

She took a deep breath, looking down at the table. She hadn't decided if she would be present at the press conference or not – she needed to discuss it with Mon Mothma again, she needed to ask Han what he thought – she could – she could even ask Winter.

Time felt like it was going impossibly quickly, and impossibly slowly at once, and somehow, it felt simultaneously absurd to have him back, and absolutely normal; some days she couldn't get a grip on herself, and others, he was just in the back of her mind, an afterthought – _oh yes; Father is back, I should touch base with him._

She swallowed hard and looked up at Luke, smiling tiredly – she didn't know why, but she felt distinctly like things could come to a head, finally, once the press was dealt with; once the interest faded, and the Alderaanians were forgotten again, just like they had seemed to be so quickly after their home world met its end.

* * *

 _...I apologized at the beginning because I think I'm about to get yelled at by a lot of people for the lack of Bail/Leia. next chapter!_

 _also, just a quick note: this story is AU, so it's not following the EU novels (i mean, obviously) but what i'm saying is, the Empire is being referred to as "gone" because in my iteration, the Republic has consolidated enough control to ensure they will keep it, and are in power in all significant sectors. The remaining Imperials are now the outnumbered insurgents._

 _-Alexandra_


	14. Thirteen

_a/n: this here chapter is a pivotal chapter... :D_

* * *

 ** _Thirteen_**

* * *

Chewbacca was accustomed to the music of a steady stream of swearing that usually echoed around the _Millennium Falcon_ while its captain tinkered with it; however, the swearing today was not only unusually colourful, but more aggressive and abusive – usually Han's swearing at the ship was marginally affectionate. The shift in cursing norms indicated to the Wookiee that Han was actually pissed about something else, and the ship just happened to be the thing he could swear at about it.

He figured he was right when Han stormed into the main hold, half-covered in black grease, gingerly cradling his hand in his palm with a terse look on his face.

"Chewie," he barked. "Where's the - ?"

 _[Don't howl at me. I didn't do anything to you]._ Chewbacca interrupted snarkily.

Han glared daggers at him.

"C'mon, pal, I slammed these fingers with the hydrospanners twice."

 _[You aren't supposed to use hydrospanners to bang on things.]_

"The screws were loose!"

 _[Since when are you so clumsy with tools?]_

"CHEWIE!" he hollered.

Chewbacca pulled back his lips in a slightly mocking grin, and got up from the game he'd been rigging to only let him win, shuffling around Han to fetch the emergency medical kit. He grumbled vaguely under his breath, because he knew the best way to get Han to 'fess up to what was wrong with him was to assume something incorrectly and have Han defend himself –

"I'm _not_ banned from the bedroom," Han said loudly, falling into the trap perfectly. "I haven't even seen Leia today."

Chewbacca grumbled pointedly, coming back in. Han sneered at him.

"Because she was gone when I woke up, that's why," he retorted. He snatched the kit from Chewie and sat down, scowling. "Probably off planning the rest of my military career," he added tersely, ripping a miniature pack of bacta open with his teeth.

Chewbacca tilted his head.

 _[I sense trouble in your relationship.]_

"Oh you do, do you?" Han muttered. "You sound like Luke, _sensing_ things," he grumbled, focusing pointedly on his mashed up thumb and forefinger – a little voice in his head warned him Leia was going to be pissed off that he'd hurt himself, and he squashed it – he didn't care right now.

 _[What's your problem? You've been snarling like a Krayt all morning.]_

Han grit his teeth, consider telling Chewie to mind his own business. He injected his hand with a small dose of serum for the throbbing pain and then flexed his fingers, frowned, and looked up, leaning back in a slump.

"They keep changin' my orders," he complained. "Yesterday, I get told I'm deployed to Madine's garrison in the Western Reaches, and I've got to leave to dock with them in three days – this morning, that order's rescinded."

 _[Well, you didn't want to go to the Reaches. You were bitching about it yesterday.]_

"I wasn't bitching – "

 _[Bitching.]_

Han glared at him. Chewbacca shrugged, and the Corellian wrinkled his nose, accepting that he probably had been whining about having to go yesterday.

"Okay," he growled sarcastically, "So yeah, I didn't want to go."

 _[Now you want to go?]_

"No, I don't _want_ to – look, the first thing I did was tell Her Holiness that I was being dispatched, and the first thing I see this morning is that they changed their minds – and wouldn't you know, she was up and gone before I even woke up."

Chewbacca blinked at him warily – he wasn't sure what the problem was, but when Han reverted back to sardonic nicknames for the Princess, it usually wasn't a good sign. Still, he couldn't see why Han being able to stay was a negative thing, because he'd just said yesterday that it was the worst possible time for them to make him leave Leia –

Chewie shrugged.

 _[Now you can stay. You don't have to worry about how the Princess is handling things.]_

"Yes, I do," barked Han. "That's the kriffin' point, Chewie – she went straight to command and had them nix my orders, and she doesn't need to be doing that – "

 _[She doesn't want you to go!]_

"When Leia starts interfering in the government for personal reasons, something's wrong!" Han snapped tensely. "This is a woman who refused to decide on rescuing her own father because it might be _impartial_."

Chewbacca bared his teeth in a warning growl.

 _[Don't get angry with her because you feel emasculated.]_

Han's jaw dropped angrily. He leaned forward, raising his uninjured hand to point at Chewbacca, but nothing came to mind right away to fire back. In the silence, Chewbacca nodded pointedly.

 _[You just don't like that she has more power than you.]_

"That's not it," Han snarled nastily.

Chewbacca folded his arms.

"Look, it's bad for both of us if it looks like I get special treatment – "

"Who exactly do you think is giving you special treatment?"

Chewbacca whipped around at the cool question, and found the Princess herself standing in the entrance to the main hold, her expression slightly stony. Chewie softened his expression and huffed a small greeting, which Leia acknowledged briefly before narrowing her eyes at Han. He glanced down at his hand in irritation and then looked back up.

"When did you get here?" he asked, both sheepish and sour.

"Right about the moment you insinuated I'm abusing my power to keep you chained to my ankle," she said coolly.

"Hey," he snapped. "That's not what I said."

"It sure sounded like it."

Han and Leia looked at each other, and Chewbacca, after a moment, unfolded his arms and raised his paws, hastily warbling that he was going to leave before this got any more explosive.

"No need, Chewie, I won't be long," Leia said curtly.

 _[I'm still going to go hide in the cockpit.]_

Han rolled his eyes at the Wookiee, and slumped back, fixing his eyes on Leia stubbornly.

"You had them change my orders," he accused irritably.

She eyed him from the doorway, and then stepped fully into the hold, crossing her arms tightly. He noticed she was wearing white – not all white, but a white blouse that buttoned elegantly at her neck, coupled with a demure, military khaki skirt.

"I did not go straight to command and have them nix your orders," she answered finally, succinctly reciting his earlier words.

He gave her a skeptical look.

"Then why'd they suddenly change their mind?' he demanded.

"Han, in one of my briefings with General Madine yesterday, I raised the question of why they needed you in the Reaches – "

Han bristled.

"So, you _did_ go and interfere."

"Han," she began again, her voice taking on an edge of warning.

"No," he snapped. "Don't _do_ that. Look, I wasn't thrilled to get sent off either, but I can't have you meddling. It makes it look like I'm just at your beck and call."

"That's ridiculous," she said flatly.

"It's only ridiculous to _you_ because you have your own title outside of the New Republic!" he pointed out angrily. He paused, and stood up. "Leia, you know, I can deal with the bantha fodder on the holonet because it's pointless gossip about us, but you do stuff like this and they'll start saying you're corrupt, and I'm not gonna listen to that."

She blinked at him, her muscles relaxing – she knew he was considerably pissed about her apparent interference, but it was humbling to hear he was worried about her credibility as well.

He frowned, a muscle in his temple twitching tensely.

"I don't like being jerked around."

"That's not what's going on," she snapped. "I thought it was suspicious that you were being sent to the Reaches, considering you led the most brutal of the campaigns before the final showdown with Zsinj. Your orders weren't to expire for the next half year – "

"The Galaxy's unstable; things change."

"—so I mentioned it to Carlist, and he told me he didn't give the order," she finished, ignoring his interjection.

She waited, and watched how the annoyance in his face faded for a confused moment, and then reappeared.

"What?" he asked. "Rieekan's always in charge of my orders."

"Which is precisely why I mentioned it to him," Leia said crisply. "I had a hunch when you told me that order came out of nowhere."

Han started to shake his head.

"Look, I don't care who gave the order, it still looks bad for you to go messing with it," he said roughly. "It makes me look weak – "

" _Weak_?"

"Yeah, weak! It makes me look like all I got to do is whine to you, and I avoid the tough stuff. Or, it makes you look like you're using your influence to make sure your concubine isn't in the line of fire."

Leia groaned and lifted her eyes to the ceiling.

"Oh, _who_ told you about the concubine thing?"

"That's all you've got to say?" he goaded.

Leia uncrossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

"Han, I don't have time to deal with the holes in your masculinity – "

"What the – you and Chewie – this is not about my – "

"You're complaining about looking weak, about my power," she listed. "Will you stop and think for a minute about why you were reassigned?" she paused only for a beat. "Before you bit my head off, consider the fact that Jan Dodonna purposely tried to send you off to a region that _doesn't_ need you."

Han fell silent, looking at her warily. Her brow darkened.

"Madine told me explicitly he doesn't need reinforcements of your caliber, and Rieekan didn't hear about the order," she said stiffly. "The only reason I _interfered_ ," she said the world acidly, "is because I assumed Dodonna instigated the order to keep you out of sight for a while. Because he thinks this is infatuation," she went on, exhaustion creeping into her tone. "Because he thinks if you were away, and I was insulated by Father, and Aunt Rouge, that this," she gestured between them wildly, "would fade."

When she stopped talking, he stood there with his banged up hand on the table, and his other hanging lamely at his side. He clenched his teeth together in anger at Dodonna's nerve, and he grimaced – mostly at himself, for jumping down her throat, but in some ways at the situation in general. The political landscape they constantly had to navigate was beyond frustrating, and Han had always hated politics.

While he stared at her, somewhat reluctant to retract his words, she lifted a hand to her forehead tensely, and compressed her lips before speaking again.

"I know we keep our personal lives separate from our professional involvements," she said tightly. "But if I hold myself to that standard, I will hold my colleagues to it, and my interference in this isn't something that is going to get out – and if it does, Han?" she said, her eyes flashing. "I don't know if I care."

He lifted his brows, and she shrugged.

"I'll throw Jan to the gundarks," she said callously, "and then he can explain why he's so incapable of accepting my personal involvements that he's playing games with the military."

Han scowled at the thought of the troublesome general, but he felt irritable all the same – not necessarily at Leia any longer, but at the whole situation. The stress, as much as he hated to admit it, was getting to him – everyone was walking on eggshells, and it all seemed to get worse as the press conference approached – he felt like he was about to be offered up for the slaughter.

He felt, quite simply, like his future with Leia was on the line, about to be decided by Viceroy Organa and the court of public opinion, and he'd never bothered to think about it that much before. He had no reason to doubt Leia, but the fear of losing her made him irrational.

Leia sighed, frustrated.

"I'd be lying if I said I had no interest in keeping you here," she said shortly, "but I didn't do this to belittle you or undermine things – and I think you know me better than that," she added, her tone cooling again.

He ran a hand over his face, scratching at his chin uncomfortably.

"I'm glad I stopped by," she said dryly. "I'd have enjoyed this fight less if I came home to it after work."

She inclined her head, and in the time it took him to blink, she'd started to turn and leave.

"Leia," he called, sighing. "Leia, don't go back to work pissed."

She stopped, her back to him, and when she turned around, her face was paler.

"Han, this press conference is tomorrow," she said apprehensively. "After that, the Alderaanians won't be sequestered anymore; their news intake won't be monitored, and frankly, the focus will probably go back on us," she said tersely. "When that happens, the only person I want speaking for you," she took a deep breath, "is _you_."

Han swallowed – he knew that, and that's what he was afraid of. There was no guarantee – hell, no chance, really – that Bail Organa's reaction would be Winter's reaction. On top of that, he'd spent so much time wary of Leia's father, that it hadn't occurred to him to think of anyone else, until at dinner Winter had mentioned several times how Leia's aunts had hassled her to marry several members of the Imperial court.

There was just so much he'd never considered about what her status as a Princess really meant – or what it had meant, before Alderaan, and before the Alliance had become her life – and his Princess Leia, the one that belonged to him, was not the one that Alderaan had known. He had no doubt that she was being torn apart by so many aspects of this, and he wanted nothing more than for everyone to just leave them alone.

She approached him after a moment, and reached for his injured hand. She sighed, examining the bruised, scraped, and recently bloodied nails. Her fingers traced the black grease stains decorating his skin.

"Why'd you come by, anyway?" He asked after a moment, watching her hands. "I thought you were doing more Viceroy prep."

She licked her lips quietly.

"We were," she said. "My relationship with him feels very inauthentic right now," she murmured. "I feel like I can't breathe when I'm with him, after a while." She looked up. "I came to tell you I won't be at the press conference with him. And," she trailed off. "Well, I was gone so early this morning, I don't believe I've kissed you."

He raised his brows at her and then, after a moment, grinned, and lifted her up, perching her on the table. He leaned forward and kissed her, taking her shoulders in his hands. She smiled, kissing him back contently. She pulled back after a moment, her expression troubled.

"Mon Mothma ultimately asked me not to be there," she confided.

"You're old news," Han said, shrugging teasingly. "He's not."

Leia didn't smile.

"He didn't seem to fight her on it," Leia said quietly.

"Leia," Han soothed, reaching up to touch her cheek. He stroked her jaw with his thumb. She tilted her head pursing her lips.

"He's not used to me in a position this high ranking. He thinks it's fitting that I not be exposed."

"You were a Senator," Han said warily. "You weren't just Alderaanian décor in the Imperial Court when he last saw you, Princess."

She sighed – it was hard to explain the dynamic. Her father had always encouraged her independence, encouraged her to be ambitious, to be a leader, but there had still been some level of deference to him beore she'd lost him – she'd consulted him, respected him – the whole mission to Tatooine had been at his behest, and she sensed that her father was unable to fully realize that these days, there was virtually no one she deferred to politically – at least not when it came to confidence in her decisions.

"Han?" she said after a moment, pulling back.

He thought for a moment she wanted to ask him something important, but then he saw a narrow glint in her eye.

"Is there engine grease on my face?"

He suddenly remembered he was covered in it. He looked at his hand, looked at her cheek – and the large smudge of blackish grey he'd left – and then thrust his hand behind his back.

"Uhh," he started.

" _Han_!" she shrieked, looking down – and then, naturally they both noticed that he'd gotten grease smudges all over her white blouse. " _Han_!" she cried again, shoving him away from her.

He tried not to laugh. He tried to look contrite, but something about sending her back to the political arena with grease stains peppering her clothing was smugly satisfying.

He grinned, and raised his hands, even managing to wriggle his injured one at her.

"Come here, Sweetheart, I'll give you a mark on your neck to match," he threatened, lunging forward.

She shrieked and tried half-heartedly to push him away, and when Chewbacca moseyed in to see if the fighting had been resolved, and to see what the fuss was about, he was relieved that all the noise was now laughter, but at the sight of Han pinning Leia to the table, he gave an indignant howl to remind them he was still there.

* * *

"Kid," Han said dryly, looking around Luke's completely barren apartment, "you need to learn how to have some fun."

Luke, looking slightly disheveled, frowned, folding his arms.

"I have fun."

"It looks like _no one_ lives here."

"Well, I sleep at the old Jedi Temple a lot."

Han stared at Luke, and then arched an eyebrow.

"The one that burned down and ended up buried under the city?" he asked.

"I fall asleep…meditating…oh, like you've never woken up in a weird place," Luke retorted, scowling.

"Yeah," Han said pointedly. "After having _fun_. Not after talking to some _ghosts_."

"Did you come over to make fun of the Force?"

"I came over because you asked me to," Han answered. "Are you going to offer me a nice, polite, drink?"

Luke nodded after a moment, and gestured vaguely at the living room – well, at least there was furniture. The kid's apartment really was utterly empty, and Han was surprised because he'd been living here for several months now. It would be logical for at least some sign of habitation to have popped up.

"I asked if you and Leia wanted to go to dinner," Luke said, fumbling around in the kitchen – he didn't want Han to discover he barely owned any cups or utensils or – anything.

"She's busy," Han answered. "I could eat."

"Where is she?" Luke asked, coming back into the living room with glasses of water. "I thought she'd be taking an early night, since the press conference is tomorrow."

Han shrugged, reclining on the couch.

"I dunno where she is."

"You always know where Leia is."

"Hey," Han said, glaring. "That makes me sound creepy."

Luke handed him the cup, and Han peered at the water in amusement – trust Luke Skywalker to offer boring, completely nonalcoholic water to guests. Han set it aside and sighed, rubbing his jaw.

"I think," he said slowly, "she's gone with Rieekan to speak with the Alderaanians that are _not_ her father, or Winter, or Rouge," he decided. "She just said she'd be back late."

"She won't eat," Luke said glumly. "Make her eat when she gets home."

"I can't make Leia do anything," Han muttered.

Luke tilted his head thoughtfully. True; no one really made Leia do things she didn't want to do. But if anyone could coax her into something, it was Han. He shook his head, frowning to himself.

"Speaking of Winter, I heard your meeting with her went well," he remarked.

Han's face lit up mischievously.

"Boy does she have some stories," he drawled. "Apparently Leia was a real nightmare on Alderaan."

"Uh," Luke said dryly, "she was a nightmare when we met her."

"Yeah, but she was messed up," Han said bluntly. "I mean she was a carefree nightmare."

"Is nightmare the right word?"

"From the way Winter tells it? Yes."

Luke grinned, taking the bait.

"Okay; give me some," he said, eager for some friendly fire to hang over her head.

"For starters, she was obsessed with a Corellian soap opera about fighter pilots," Han said smugly.

Luke snorted.

"So you're just cheap fantasy fulfillment."

Han spread out his arms dramatically.

"Happy to help," he bragged. He rested his arms on the back of Luke's couch. "She cut her hair off twice. Once before a formal presentation," he recalled – Winter had recounted the story of Leia's aunts shrieking at her like roasting mynocks while Bail tried to talk to her sternly, and yet couldn't seem to stop smiling.

"Huh," Luke mused. "But she keeps it so long now," he muttered.

Han shrugged – he guessed that had a lot to do with tradition. She may have hated the hassle on Alderaan, but now it was something she'd never take for granted. A gesture of respect, no doubt.

"Let's see," Han drawled. "She used to have Winter go to formal functions for her and impersonate her so she could sneak out and be 'normal'."

"What? Winter looks _nothing_ like her."

"I think that was the joke," Han snorted. "The visiting delegations weren't always aware of what Leia looked like, but her family was, and it put them in a very awkward position."

Luke stared at him incredulously.

"Winter didn't mind?"

"Winter said it was much more fun pretending to be the Princess than _being_ the Princess," Han quoted. "And, she was expelled from primary school," Han added.

"I don't believe you," Luke said flatly.

Han nodded, feigning solemnity. Luke glared at him defiantly, and then faltered, raising his brows.

"For what?" he asked, exasperated. " _Primary_ school?"

"She staged a protest because the orange juice was in those little boxes, instead of fresh squeezed," Han said, trying not to laugh, "and she somehow fixed it so anything that mentioned the Emperor's name replaced it with a swear word. _And_ she played the Old Republic anthem over the loud speakers, which was illegal back in those days. So they asked her parents to take her back."

Luke stared at him in shock, unsure if he was impressed or affronted. He'd somehow always imagined his sister as an upstanding paragon of perfect behavior –

"How old was she?"

"Six or seven?" Han remembered, frowning. He shrugged. "She said her father started taking her to Senate meetings after that, until she went to the University."

"Do you know what _I_ was doing in primary school?" Luke asked moodily.

"Getting your ass kicked," Han guessed.

Luke scowled at him. He pointed to the ever-present lightsaber attached to his belt dramatically.

"If they could see me now – " he threatened lightly. He looked thoughtful a moment. "I _guess_ I'm not surprised Leia was like that," he ventured after a moment. "How is she?" Luke asked.

Han shrugged.

"Fine."

Luke gave him a withering look.

"Where's her head?"

Han looked at him edgily.

"I don't like it when you ask me about her head," he warned.

Luke blinked at him, brow furrowing.

"But I'm worried about her."

"It's invasive," Han retorted. "It feels underhanded. Look, I'm not gonna betray her trust like that and gossip behind her back."

Luke gave him a baleful look.

"You just told me a bunch of stuff about her that I didn't know," he pointed out, annoyed. "And how come that doesn't apply when you're mad at her?" he whined.

Han ran a hand over his face.

"It's different," he insisted warily. "'Cause," he reasoned out, "Bitchin' about her attitude is one thing, so's telling old stories. Blabbing about stuff she only tells me isn't right."

"I'm not asking you to tell me what her pet names for you are," Luke argued. "I'm just concerned she's acting like she was while you were in carbonite – I didn't know she was Force sensitive then, but she was in such a bad place…" he trailed off for a moment, and shook his head tensely.

"If you want to know, ask her," Han said stubbornly. He waved his hand. "Can't you sense her with your Force thing, anyway?" he asked, slightly irritable.

Luke shook his head.

"Only when she lets me," he said tiredly. "Leia's more powerful than I am. She just won't embrace it."

"Can you blame her?" Han snapped, bristling. "You dropped that power in her lap the same day you told her Vader was her father," he growled.

Luke held up his hands contritely.

"I didn't mean to bring up a sore subject," he said grudgingly. He rubbed his face and sighed, looking haggard for a moment. He didn't look at Han, but he looked troubled. "I think she hates me sometimes," he confessed finally. "Hates me, or is scared of me."

He got the feeling that Leia more than resented him for his forgiveness of Vader; she took it as a deeply personal affront. He didn't blame her, he just had the benefit of meditation, and peace through the Force, and she wouldn't allow him to show her even the slightest path to respite.

Han frowned at him.

"I don't have any pet names," he muttered after a moment.

Luke managed a smile, and Han looked at him warily; the kid really was worried, and even before they'd known they were siblings, he and Leia had been close. The disheartening thing about the familial revelation was that it seemed to have drawn Leia away from him. Han had noticed it, too. He was tempted to tell Luke that it had nothing to do with him, really, but he stuck to his guns; Leia needed to be able to trust him completely, or she wouldn't open up even to him.

"Look, I'll tell her you're worried," Han muttered. "Everyone's expecting her to act a certain way," he added, nettled. He swallowed, hesitating, and then said, quietly: "You can't act like her not wanting to be a Jedi means she's one of the bad guys, you know," he said gruffly. "Maybe she's just a politician."

Luke blinked – he didn't know if Han had inadvertently given him a hint, or if he'd done it deliberately, but he did abruptly realize that Leia's aversion to him might be because she interpreted his desperation to teach her as fear that she was a dark alternative to all his light – but it wasn't that; it wasn't that at all. Leia was as human as anyone else; she could be angry, she could be selfish, she could be a thousand things, but a Sith would never be one of them – there was too much honor in her.

If losing Alderaan, and then nearly losing Han, the one person she'd let in after that great disaster, hadn't unleashed a vortex of dark power, then _nothing_ would, and he had to find a way to tell her that.

Han looked at Luke a minute longer and then rolled his eyes, taking pity on him.

"Big picture: she's not suicidal," he said bluntly.

Luke looked pale, and appalled.

"She's been _suicidal_ before?"

Han stared at him.

"Kid, work with me," he said, exasperated. "That was just a broad statement."

Luke still looked troubled, and Han rolled his eyes. To his knowledge Leia had never been specifically suicidal; she had always found something to drive her after tragedy. She'd had revenge after Alderaan; she'd seen that revenge through to the destruction of the Empire – she'd had to find him after Bespin, and now he supposed there was quite a bit else popping up.

But – he might have been apprehensive, just for a little while, in the few weeks after they'd moved into their apartment and it felt like they had nothing to do but dwell on everything that had happened during the war. He was starting to feel that whisper of apprehension now, but he didn't mention it to Luke.

"Why don't I change the subject," Han said loudly.

"Okay, but my last word is that I just care about her," Luke muttered.

"Bet I care about her more," Han retorted.

"You're making this a competition?"

"Yeah, and I win."

"I'm her _brother_."

"You've known that for what, a year?" Han mocked. "Me, on the other hand – "

"Now you're bragging for chasing her around like an idiot when she was ignoring you."

"Watch it, kid, it was much more embarrassing for you to be chasing her around, considering."

Luke scowled at him.

"Speaking of you and women," Han said, transitioning as he sat forward. He rested his elbows on his knees. "I made a friend a promise."

Luke looked apprehensive, as Han went on.

"You know Dansra Bezeer?"

"No," Luke said blankly.

Han rolled his eyes.

"Yes, you do – she was one of the pilots, Yellow Squadron. She's on the Council with Leia."

Luke blinked, and Han was briefly incredulous over how unobservant he could be socially despite his finely tuned Jedi senses. The kid suddenly tilted his head thoughtfully, and nodded.

"The blonde one."

"Yeah," Han agreed. "On our little rescue mission to save the Viceroy, she asked me to put in a word with you."

"A word?"

"A word of _interest_ ," Han insinuated.

"In the Jedi temple?"

"Luke," Han said, resisting the urge to smack him in the back of the head. "'M pretty sure she meant her interest in sleeping with you."

Luke raised his eyebrows.

"I don't even know her," he said, bemused.

"It's a compliment," Han assured him.

"But, wouldn't she want me to take her to dinner first?" Luke asked.

Han arched a brow at him.

"You want to talk her _in_ to making you pay for dinner first?" he asked. He started to make a joke, and then shook his head. "You're a good kid, Luke."

Luke thought about it a moment.

"She's very attractive," he noted.

"Leia mentioned setting you up with Winter; so you have options," Han joked.

Luke folded his arms.

"Hey, Leia won't let them marry her off, so she's offering me?" he whined.

"Maybe she figures the galaxy's only Jedi Knight is a hefty alliance prize."

Luke scowled moodily.

"I think the original order required celibacy," he said.

"That'd explain why they died out," Han joked.

Luke sighed heavily.

"I've been discovering more about that, lately," he said gloomily. "I think they were purged. Murdered by the Emperor. I can't seem to find his origins – figure out if he was a Jedi who turned, like my father, or if he originated as a Sith. All I know is that he was from Naboo, and the Naboo consider him a stain that will plague them for the rest of eternity."

Han looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"Ask Chewie," he said suddenly.

Luke looked confused.

"Ask – Chewie?" he repeated.

Han nodded.

"His old man fought in the Clone Wars," Han offered. "Think I remember Kashyyyk being a prime battleground. The Old Republic had Jedi attached to all the Clone Units."

Luke stared at Han.

"How do you…?"

"'Cause Corellia was infested with Clones, when I was a kid," Han interrupted. "This punk I used to run around with said he saw a Jedi once, lightsaber and all." He shrugged.

"I…never thought to ask if you or Chewbacca remembered those days."

"Chewie will," Han said stubbornly. "I don't. Not the way you want me to. I just remember starving."

Luke looked intrigued, and Han waved his hand.

"Back to you having fun," he snorted, "and getting your head out of the Jedi Temple for half a parsec," he muttered.

"Han, I need to be as informed as I can be if I'm going to start a new Jedi Order – "

"That's great, kid, but first we've got to talk about the Alliance nurses."

Luke drew back warily.

"What?" he asked quietly, his eyes darting away as Han looked at him smugly.

"Seems that's why Dansra's interested," Han continued smoothly. "She heard a bunch of talk from a bunch of Alliance nurses – talk I _never_ heard."

Luke had the good grace to look slightly sheepish.

"No need to be embarrassed, Luke," he teased wickedly. "I'm proud of you."

"Look," Luke began, attempting to look dignified. "I was young – and I didn't have any girlfriends on Tatooine – "

"I'm shocked," Han said bluntly.

"—and it went to my head a little, the Force, and making the Death Star kill shot, and you know, that was an inappropriate use of the Force anyway, I've matured – "

"Hang on," Han interrupted incredulously. "You were – what, manipulating women into bed with you? Entrancing them?"

Horrified, Luke shook his head.

"No, _no_!" he insisted, his face pale. "It wasn't like that, it wasn't – I was using it to…um," he paused, but he really hated the way Han was looking at him – Han, who he'd always considered more unscrupulous than himself, looked about ready to rip him to shreds, so he blurted out the rest – "um, enhance the experience, for them. Once they were already…with me."

Han stared at him silently for a good two minutes or so.

"That sounds like something out of a dirty holo," he said seriously.

"Okay, Han – "

"Straight off the Blue Net, Master Skywalker."

"Han, can you – "

"What a _spectacular_ abuse of religious power."

Luke glared at him, turning a dark red. Han smirked back with obvious glee at the information.

"This information will definitely up your marketability in the marriage market," he went on. "I'll tell Leia to double any dowry she has in mind – "

"You're not going to tell Leia anything – "

"Are you kidding? I'm definitely telling Leia about," he broke off suddenly, tilting his head. "Hey, Leia's Force sensitive," he noted, switching gears. "Does that mean – "

"Please don't finish that sentence."

"—she can do stuff like that, too?"

Luke looked scandalized.

" _I'm_ not having _that_ conversation with her," he squeaked.

Han blinked at him.

"Even if I convince her to let you train her?"

" _This_ conversation," Luke said, in a pained voice, "has gone completely out of my control."

Han smirked devilishly.

"So, who had the honor of initiating you?" he asked wickedly. "That little redhead flight tech? She was always battin' her lashes at you."

"Initiating...? _Oh,"_ Luke cottoned on, turning red again. He seemed to debate answering and then relented. "No, it was Yara Soarsyn."

He started to jog Han's memory by reminding him Yara had been the tactical analysis expert, but before he could, Han had already narrowed his eyes warily and said -

 _"You_ slept with Yara?"

Luke hesitated.

"Uh, yes," he said slowly, squinting at Han critically. "Why do I get the feeling you did, too?" he asked dryly, suspiciously noting Han's tone.

Han was silent for a moment, and Luke grimaced.

"Don't tell Leia about this," Han said finally - not because he thought Leia would care that he'd been with women before her but...she would probably find this disturbing.

"I don't know, sounds like Yara had a type - Death Star heroes," Luke said, deadpan. "Maybe she slept with Leia, too."

Han laughed loudly - if he didn't know Leia so well, he might have believed it; Yara had been a hell of an adventurous woman. Han leaned forward and punched Luke gently in the shoulder, a masculine show of friendship. He grinned smugly, and inclined his head, steering the conversation back to its original point with a final word about Dansra –

"You should see what Dan's like," he advised. "Who cares what the old Jedi used to do," he pointed out, with surprising sagacity, "since it obviously didn't work out for them."

"She _is_ pretty," Luke said to himself.

Han nodded.

"Smart, too. And a pilot."

" _You_ sound interested."

"Ha," Han snorted. "You're not chasin' me away from your sister that easy." He leaned forward. "You want to sit here and starve?"

Luke shook his head, rising. He mentioned something about raising Chewie on the comlink to invite him, too, and then turned, frowning at Han thoughtfully.

"Are you worried about what Bail's going to think of you?" he asked, surprisingly forward.

Han looked at him guardedly – he sensed Luke was equal parts worried about Leia's well-being and Han's ability to play nice in whatever situation cropped up. The latter issue would, of course, play its part in affecting Leia's well-being. So, Han looked at the kid without saying anything, his face unreadable – he was concerned about a lot of things, but what Bail Organa thought of him, specifically, as an individual, wasn't one of them.

"No," he answered flatly. "I'm worried about her."

What Bail thought of him with Leia, however, was an entirely different thing.

* * *

The greenhouses at the Alderaanian Embassy were home to the delicate remains of the planet's flora. What had once been a simple, decorative part of a diplomatic post was now a vitally important center of preservation. The place had been abandoned for so long after Leia had fled Coruscant, and after the destruction of Alderaan, that the greenhouses had been wild and overrun, but careful attention had been paid to restore them, and salvage what could be salvaged.

Until recently, Leia had spent very little time in them; she considered it overwhelmingly painful to be surrounded by such natural reminders of the planet, knowing that she was in an artificial bubble, which she'd have to step out of eventually. The garden, however, was her father's favorite place to retreat, and seated on a stone bench with him now, among a cluster of arallutes, Alderaan's very last, she marveled at how differently they had chosen to deal with the grief.

He wanted to be close to any reminder he could find; he wore his seal with diligence, he spoke only Alderaanian when it was reasonable, he meditated and reflected in these gardens while she – before she'd spoken it to Winter, she hadn't spoken her native tongue in five years, she had manically clung to some customs while erasing others, and she had avoided pain where she could, favoring numbness.

For this time with him, this brief, solitary time a few hours before his impending press conference, she'd let Rouge style her hair in a manner that Breha Organa had favored – proper, befitting an Alderaanian of age – and she'd rooted out something white from her closet.

Bail examined an arallute that lay in his lap, his expression troubled.

"You can't really think I'll be asked something like that," he remarked, looking up. His expression was pinched – Leia was seeing him once more, this time very much alone, to ensure he was as ready as he could be for the media onslaught.

"You will be," Leia said simply. "It's not likely it will come from an Alderaanian, but it's been asked before," she paused, "of me," she finished softly.

"And how do you answer?" Bail asked.

Leia looked at him wordlessly – how did she answer questions posed to her about guilt, questions that demanded she state whether or not she blamed herself, whether or not her vendetta against the Empire had constituted a war crime against her own people?

"I've been asked if I blame myself," she said quietly. "If I feel guilty." She paused. "Of course I do. But if it hadn't been Alderaan, it would have been another planet. And even if I'd revealed the location of every Rebel base past, present, and future – it still would have been Alderaan then, in that moment."

Bail nodded – that, he felt sure of.

"If they need to blame me to cope, I can take it," she mused, resigned.

"You shouldn't have to," Bail said.

"I was raised to be their leader one day," she said carefully. "You taught me a lot of valuable lessons about leading, but something I learned on my own – from the Alliance," she went on, "is that sometimes, people just need a scapegoat."

His lips turned up, but the smile was sad; a disheartening lesson to learn, to be sure – and one he wasn't so sure she would have learned on Alderaan. But domestic Alderaan had been an outlier among worlds; even unrest was civil and polite, fair and balanced. Acts of violence were rare, and shocking.

"You've become very wise," her father told her. "At a terrible cost, I'm afraid."

Leia chose not to remark on that too specifically.

"Wasn't I wise before?" she asked, arching one brow defiantly – challenging him like she used to. "Surely something got me elected to the Senate."

Bail laughed good-naturedly.

"Well, it was a different wisdom, wasn't it?" he asked wryly. "Youthful wisdom, perhaps."

"Naiveté, you mean," Leia supplied, her words dry. "I thought I could cleverly politic my way to justice."

"Any good warrior attempts to negotiate before striking," Bail recited – something akin to the philosophy he'd always raised her with. He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "A padawan I knew during the Clone Wars used to refer to battle as _aggressive negotiations_."

Leia laughed shortly. It sounded like something Han would say while mocking Luke's calm mediation or his insistent attempts to talk the light side into those who seemed long committed to the dark.

"Padawan," she murmured. "The term for Jedi apprentices, yes?" she clarified, remembering the word from her education.

Bail nodded, and she sighed.

"Luke can barely contain his curiosity, Father," Leia remarked. "He'll want to hear everything you know."

"I've told him I was no Jedi, I just had close friends – "

"It doesn't matter," Leia interrupted emphatically. "He's starved for information, any of it. He gets manic. He sometimes spends nights in the crypts of that old Jedi Temple. He didn't – actually, I don't think any of us realized the extent to which the Empire obliterated old records." She paused, feeling a weight on her shoulders, as she always did when she thought about how much had been lost to darkness. "Our only resources on some things are those who remember what it was like nearly thirty years ago."

Her words had a double meaning; she conveyed to her father in subtleties that she had questions for him too – that he owed her everything in his head. His brow furrowed deeply, almost sorrowfully, and he took her hand, squeezing it gently.

"Luke Skywalker," he began.

Leia removed her hand from his and held it up – not in a way that was threatening, per se, but it was firm.

"I don't want to discuss the Skywalkers right now," she said quietly, paying careful attention to his face as she used the plural – she was unsure if he knew she knew about Vader, because it wasn't in the files, and she hadn't brought it up.

She wondered if he automatically assumed that if she knew Luke was her brother, she must know about Darth Vader – but now was not the time. She wasn't ready – and she didn't know what, if anything, she wanted to know. She didn't know what questions she wanted to ask, or how to phrase them.

She compressed her lips, and gave him a small nod.

"There will be time," she assured him, almost tensely.

The expression on his face was sad, somewhat resigned.

"You've been avoiding me, Lelila," he remarked mildly.

It wasn't really an accusation, it was a fair observation, and she didn't trip over herself to correct him. He'd been back about two weeks now, and his prime contacts were Luke and Rieekan, though he and the others had been fairly isolated in general.

"It isn't so much avoidance," she said quietly. She swallowed hard. "The galaxy is very different than it was when your ship was lost," she went on, "and the introduction needed to be – gradual, to give some sort of hope for adjusting – "

"That was wise," Bail said grimly. "Even with slow, clear information it's – overwhelming," he said, but hesitated a moment. "But your reticence has been – disheartening," he chose his words carefully. "I don't mean to criticize; I simply mean that – after finding out you were alive, to rarely see you –"

" _I_ am very different, Father," Leia interrupted simply. "There – believe me," she implored, "there is merit in my caution – it would be too, too," she fumbled for a way to articulate it. "It would be a double shock, to cope with the magnitude of the change in the galaxy, as well as a completely, drastically changed interpersonal relationship."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a long, silent moment. He wasn't sure what she was trying to say; he understood, objectively, that she'd experienced a lot, and matured a lot, since he'd last known her. He knew she'd been hurt, and hurt badly, but he couldn't see evidence of it in the way she handled herself, and handled her position. He had been - stunned to see the list of injuries and injustices she'd accrued on the Death Star. Broken ribs, nerve damage, burns, bruises. He was sick thinking about what else had happened that wasn't in that file, and yet she was nothing like the tortured prisoners he had worked with in the past, during his Clone War days.

Or perhaps she was just spectacularly good at hiding it.

"The only difference I see is how you look," he said gently, using the compliment as a peace offering. "We won't be at odds, Leia."

Her expression was unreadable.

"You haven't confronted being back in my life yet; knowing me as I am now," she said guardedly.

He looked troubled – did she think he would dislike her, suddenly? Everything he'd read, everything he'd heard, indicated she was a strong leader, that she'd been a linchpin of the Rebel Victory, that she was a valuable member of the New Republic. He sensed it was something intangible she referred to and Leia – for her part – didn't know how to put into words that she'd never be able to fit herself back into their old dynamic.

Losing her parents had caused her unimaginable grief, and since the loss she had coped, she had become someone, like all orphans, who lost all concept of what it was like to seek a parent's opinion even in adulthood. Most children with good parents looked up to them and sought their council even in the later years of life; but believing Bail dead, coupled with the intervening information about her true heritage and all the bad things that had happened to her since, had saddled her with an independence from her father that was so concrete that there were fleeting moments, even now, when she bristled at his affection like a teenager on the verge of adulthood.

She gave him a small smile.

"And how do I look?" she asked lightly. "You told Winter I looked like my mother. Has your memory faded that much?" Her words were sympathetic, nostalgic, and gently teasing – it was no insult to be compared to Breha Organa, she'd been a stunningly beautiful woman – but she'd been blissfully tall with olive skin and a sharp, angular face.

Winter was right; Leia had never looked a thing like Breha Organa.

Her father's face was heavy, wistful, and he cleared his throat at the comment.

"You do look like her," he said finally. "Very much so."

Leia looked down at her hands, silenced. Unable to process, at the moment, how close she was to the truth about her origins, she changed the subject.

"The media for the conference tonight has been very carefully selected – vetted impeccably," she said. "It's only the journalists with the most integrity for the most part. It will be grueling," she murmured, "answering – emotional questions, answering things you don't know yet – one that will pop up frequently is what your place is now, as you were a founding member of the Alliance."

Leia had strategically placed Threkin Horm in charge of vetting the press. She knew how outraged he was at the mere inkling of Han Solo, and how fanatical he seemed to be about preserving the kind but aloof dignity of Alderaan's royal family, thus she'd thought it best to charge him with stocking the press arena. He would ensure, for his own obsequious sake, that the press members he chose were those who turned up their nose at idle gossip in the face of a truly significant miracle.

"I'm prepared for this conference, Lelila," he assured her, caring and confident. He caught her eye.

She looked back at him, on the verge of asking him if he was prepared to really start living in this world, uncensored, unprotected, adrift in unfamiliarity. Small things he did set her on edge – not because she disliked them, but because they were incongruous to who she was now, and she knew his logical acceptance of change was likely to be vastly different from the emotional response.

She'd seen the look on his face when she walked into a meeting with him two days ago with her hair loose but for some thin, intricately decorated braids pulling it back from her face. Like any Organa, he was well-bred and well-trained enough not to remark, but she'd been abruptly reminded that while she thought nothing of it, his immediate reaction had been a response to what used to be tradition – and tradition on Alderaan would have held that an unmarried Princess wouldn't be caught dead with loose hair in official capacity.

Never mind the deep magenta tunic she'd been wearing.

Her manner of coping with the loss of Alderaan was so different from his, and it clashed with the identity crisis she'd been having since Luke's revelations. She couldn't explain why she divested herself of some traditions and clung to others. She stopped wearing white because it had indicated availability and adolescence, and she wasn't available or adolescent; but she'd kept her long hair, even if she chose to style it contrary to tradition. The more she saw him revere places like this garden they sat in; the more she saw that his focus would be careful attention to the preservation of their culture, the more she dreaded his reactions to what she'd eschewed.

She was trying to live in two worlds and figure out where she belonged between them both, and it would take him ages to understand that now, _ages._ Perhaps if he had been alive - around - for the crucial moments when she found out about Vader, things could have gone more smoothly.

"May I ask you something?" he inquired quietly, interrupting her reverie.

She nodded, inclining her head diplomatically.

"It's on behalf of Rouge."

Leia rolled her eyes and then caught herself, having the good grace to look a bit abashed. Her father smiled – almost smirked, and then hesitated, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"She would like to know if, ah, there's been a marriage arranged. She and – Celly, and Tia," he broke off hoarsely, at the reference to his other sisters. "Well, you remember how interested they were in those kinds of politics." He paused, his expression curious. "She's obnoxiously delighted you've taken more interest in clothes and make-up, but she's beside herself about the colours."

Leia swallowed hard - poor traditional, poor regal Rouge, focusing so intently on superficial things. Leia couldn't fault her for it at all - it must be, it had to be, her way of trying to grasp everything that had happened.

"No," Leia said simply. She decided there was no harm a sample of what was to come. "I've told Mon Mothma I am off the table."

Bail nodded his head, and she studied his face carefully – what was he thinking? He looked at her almost critically, intently, as if he could see through her. He had always seemed to take her side against her aunts in that regard, but back then she was sure he thought he had no need to worry, for the most part; she would choose wisely, and strategically. In fact, despite romantic fantasies when she was younger, she herself had always quite expected to end up with one of the young men from Alderaan's other ruling families - an Antilles, like Breha, or a Panteer; they were good men, and they were Alderaanians by blood.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him now - something in her gut gnawed at her, and coaxed her to just tell him _now,_ get it over with, even if there wasn't much finesse in it; just let it simmer: _That man who came to get you? That man you asked Luke about? He's mine. I love him. Please Father -_ but she couldn't unstick the words from her throat; she couldn't do it. Maybe Han was right; maybe she was reluctant to tell him. Here, now, she couldn't shake him up right before this press conference; she couldn't undo days and days of carefully controlled introduction to the new world by casually blurting out that she was sleeping with a smuggler.

She took a deep breath and reached for his hand again, locking her fingers into his. Bail leaned over and pressed his lips in a fatherly kiss to her forehead, and she closed her eyes a moment, taking a deep breath – the press conference seemed to be the thin wall that was preventing chaos from descending.

* * *

Leia felt strange about being absent from a defining media moment of the New Republic, but she also felt impossibly relieved. The utter depth with which her father was about to be questioned about Alderaan and all of his thoughts on it, and his thoughts on the present, daunted her.

Publicly, she kept her comments on Alderaan political or reverent, necessary and concise – it was, she knew, her greatest point of criticism, the reason malcontents and those who needed a scapegoat called her Ice Princess – but she couldn't help it; she could barely discuss Alderaan on a personal level with even Han.

Han was content to have her home; he favored anything that would keep the media from finding more ways to harass her.

"Who's that behind Winter, again?" Han asked, talking over Mon Mothma's even-tempered opening remarks. Han, being Han, had memorized almost no one's name among the list of people he'd rescued.

Leia tilted her head, running her fingers absently through Han's hair.

"Bastan Sadir," she murmured. "He was an intelligence officer."

"Hmm," Han grunted, half-interested. "Know him well?"

"He was always around," she answered neutrally. "But due to the nature of his job, he was mysterious. We called them Say-Nothings. Actually, he pinched me once."

" _Pinched_ you?" Han bristled, shifting his head. He looked up at her – half an hour ago, after dinner, his head had taken up residence in her lap, while she sat curled near the armrest of the sofa.

Leia smiled, ruffling his hair.

"He thought I was being impertinent." She showed Han her wrist. "So, he pinched me."

"Ministers were allowed to just _pinch_ the Princess?"

"Alderaan was very much an 'it takes a village to raise a child' society. Even royal children were expected to respect and defer to elders. I think I called him a name during a meeting, so he pinched my wrist, sharply . Well, I was outraged, being ten and very full of myself, however," she said, nodding at the holoscreen, "I got no sympathy from Father, who told me that if I'd ticked off Officer Sadir enough that I was pinched, I earned it."

Han still looked outraged. Leia smiled.

"If it makes you feel better, I heard that he privately got very, _very_ angry with Bastan. Organas didn't physically punish their children."

Han mumbled something and looked back at the screen, leaving Leia to go back to running her fingers lazily through his hair.

"What should I think of your Aunt Rouge?" he asked.

Leia sighed, eyeing the woman on the screen – Rouge looked beautiful as ever, if nervous; she'd placed herself at Bail's right hand, opposite Winter.

"I couldn't say," she murmured. "Winter says she's changed immensely. When I last saw her, I was a constant disappointment to her." She paused. "Celly and Tia, too."

"Can't imagine you disappointing anyone," Han retorted.

"I disappointed them conventionally," she said quietly. "At sixteen I should have been presented to the Emperor with the other royal daughters in the galaxy, but I refused the presentation until I could have it as an elected official. Father supported me. But to the aunts," she trailed off, and smirked softly. " _Very_ appalled that I was clearly more involved in Father's scheming than I was in the marriage market."

Han snorted, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. Mon Mothma was taking a step back, yielding her platform to Bail Organa, and he looked calm and collected, every bit the leader Leia had implied he was.

"I think I'll speak with him tomorrow," Leia murmured.

"Want me to be there?"

"No," she answered.

She didn't elaborate, but she feared her father saying something negative about the whole thing without thinking, and she didn't trust Han not to run his mouth right back – so it was a situation she didn't want to exacerbate right off the bat.

Han shifted to stretch out more comfortably, and pressed his lips to her knees, watching with satisfaction as little goosebumps appeared. She twitched her foot at him.

"Stop it," she ordered half-heartedly.

He rolled over and kissed her ribs instead, mischievously pushing up the hem of her shirt.

"Han, I'm trying to watch my _father_ speak."

"He can't see me."

Leia rested her head on her arm, shaking her head good-naturedly. He pushed her blouse up further and she ignored him spectacularly, even when his tongue traced a suggestive line from the scar above her hip to her ribs. He nipped at her skin with his teeth, and at that, she pulled his hair sharply in reprimand.

"Bad Han," she said, scrunching up her nose. He pressed his forehead to her abdomen and she giggled, inching away from him. "Scoundrel," she hissed.

It didn't surprise her that Han was bored by the idea of watching the whole conference – too political – but she also sensed he was attempting to keep her relaxed; since leaving her father at the Embassy for his final preparations, she'd been so tense and anxious she'd barely spoken to him during dinner. She was even slightly grateful for the distraction – she felt jittery, so impossibly jittery.

Her eyes were fixed on his face as he began his opening remarks – concise, elegant, well-spoken as always, and for a moment she was hypnotized, like she was a child again, in awe watching him speak at formal functions. It wasn't long before the barrage of questions started, though the media did seem to exhibit a certain amount of respect, considering the subject matter.

His first question was about coping with the reality of the destruction; he handled it well – and follow up questions to that were predictable, painful, but phrased elegantly. Then came things she'd expected –

" _Viceroy, you may know there are some factions that resent Princess Leia – even blame her – for the genocide. After all, her involvement with the Alliance spurred the Empire's decision – do you think any of the fault lies with her?"_

Han twisted around, his expression dark.

Bail Organa looked troubled.

" _Do I blame my daughter for the devastating actions of a bloodthirsty regime? Quite a question, quite a question – put simply, no, of course not, though if that's the line of thought some have, the blame should be placed at my feet, as I was an original founder of the Alliance to Restore the Republic."_

" _But,"_ persisted the reporter _, "some would say her lack of emotion concerning the Disaster is troubling – as if it were easy for her to sacrifice Alderaan for her political goals."_

" _Having spoken with Princess Leia numerous times since my return, I can tell you she has none of the attributes of a genocidal maniac, so I'd call that view of her a misconception at the least,"_ Bail said calmly. He seemed to pause for a moment. _"I'm beginning to understand very well what it must feel like to have the whole galaxy define what your reaction to such an unprecedented tragedy should be."_

Han breathed out heavily and shook his head, relaxing slightly. He rested his head back on Leia's lap.

"He's good," he said bluntly.

"This is what he was raised for," Leia murmured, before pressing her lips together – the questioning moved on, devoting time to the Alderaanian Vengeance Brigade—and her father handled that well, too; he didn't pass judgment, he just spoke about the different manners of coping, urged temperance and inner peace; the usual sort of Alderaanian feel-good pacifism.

She'd forgotten how wise he was; on the screen before her now, he seemed to slowly creep back onto the pedestal he'd occupied when she was a child, the one she'd shoved him off of when she stood in Han's arms on Endor, grappling with Luke's genealogical revelation.

"… _in considering my role in the galaxy now…must be understood that I hardly dared envision a world without the Empire, and now myself, and my fellows, are being abruptly thrust into it – my preliminary concerns of course are with the Alderaanian Diaspora,"_ Bail was saying – naturally, addressing his new role.

" _Finding it surprising to be outranked by your daughter, Viceroy?"_

The question was lighthearted, and got a laugh. Han snorted. On screen, Bail smiled warmly.

" _Daunting as it can be when the student surpasses the teacher, I always knew Princess Leia was destined for greater things than myself. She's a child of more than one world, and those individuals unite millions."_

" _Through marriage, perhaps?"_

At that, Han made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat and turned back to stealthily inching Leia's shirt up higher, his attention back on kissing her ribs. Leia leaned forward, not as a reaction to his mouth, but because she sensed danger.

" _I don't think I'd recommend myself well by barging back into her life and arranging her a marriage,"_ Bail responded lightly. _"I'm not sure it's wise to commodify the last Princess of Alderaan –"_

Ten alarms went off in Leia's head – _trap_ , her senses screamed. _Trap!_

A hand went up, a reporter interrupted.

" _Then you do not have any qualms about Princess Leia's relationship with General Solo?"_

Leia pressed her lips together hard, grabbing Han's shoulder in a tight panic. He turned, sitting up slowly, his expression grim suddenly. She tugged down her shirt and unfolded her legs, swinging them off the sofa and pressing her toes into the carpet.

She stared at her father's image, watched his expression go from confident and at ease to flummoxed, and he cocked his head to the side.

" _Who?"_

Leia guessed the question came out of a desire to buy time rather than genuine confusion.

" _That would be Han Solo – he was commissioned recently, but he's primarily been a smuggler, tied most often to the Hutt crime lords,"_ the reporter added.

Leia was unsure if the questions were meant to be demeaning and malicious, or if they were just there to elicit as salacious a clip as possible, but she felt like she couldn't breathe. Next to her, Han swore, fully focused on the screen, and she sensed him tense considerably.

Bail Organa raised his hand.

" _I've been briefed well; I'm aware of who the man in question is – "_

" _And what's your opinion on his relationship with Princess Leia?"_

Bail simply looked put out for a moment. He shook his head.

" _The General?"_ he said _. "I think you must be mistaken – ah,"_ he faltered a moment. _"He's considerably older than her – in any case, I doubt the broadcast audience is here to discuss rumors about Princess – "_

" _They aren't rumors, Viceroy,"_ another reporter interrupted. There was some shuffling. _"There's plenty of photographic evidence, and we have a clip of her public confirmation of the affair."_

Sitting up straight, Leia's face turned white – that moment of abandon a month or so ago, at the gala – it was going to haunt her in ways she'd never imagined, now – and photos, what photos? She wracked her brains, trying to decide if there had every been any even slightly scandalous photos taken by the press of her and Han –

"Hate to break it to you, Sweetheart," Han said grimly, "but he doesn't look happy."

Leia swallowed hard, her eyes on her father again – he looked so gobsmacked, so completely unprepared, unequipped to proceed – she had only ever known him to be flustered so badly once before, and the circumstances had been different – wildly different, adorable even; it had been at her first public event, when she was three years old – they'd placed a ceremonial tiara on her, and she'd thrown it at him, smacking him in the nose in the middle of a speech.

Bail had been so startled by the unpredictability of a toddler that Breha had taken over the dedication ceremony.

Her ears were ringing while reporters suddenly switched gears entirely, harassing her father with questions – in the back, Rouge was speaking rapidly to Winter, taking her by the shoulders – and then Leia's voice was echoing through speakers, a grainy recording –

 _Not unless the Prince would be amenable to his wife having a lifelong affair with General Solo._

Leia winced, covering her mouth, and then in a flash, the holoreporters were able to project a photo of her and Han, defiantly placed in a split screen alongside her father –

"Hey," Han growled. "Where did they get that?"

Leia shook her head helplessly – she was only glad that it was nothing explicit. She recognized one of the balconies at the Alderaanian Embassy, but she couldn't recall when the photo had been taken. In the photo, she was leaning against the rails, and he was leaning next to her, his face pressed close to her ear, clearly whispering something, his arm wrapped intimately around her waist.

In the photo, she was laughing.

" _Viceroy? Viceroy, were you not aware? Viceroy, do you think a smuggler is a suitable match? Viceroy, your opinion on the affair – "_

The questions went on and on, and Leia wanted to cover her ears; she wanted to scream.

She vaguely heard her father finally break through the cacophony –

" _I won't be remarking on things I know nothing about."_

\- and he sounded stiff and a little cold, and then Mon Mothma was taking over, kindly but forcefully trying to steer the dialogue back to politics.

"I guess we should have realized that might happen," Han said bitterly. "Vultures – "

"I did; we _did_ control for that," Leia gasped, standing up. Her hands were shaking. "That's precisely why the specific reporters were so vetted – there was a specific order to keep the interviews – professional," she broke off, her heart racing.

Han looked frustrated – and he avoided looking at the screen, he avoided looking at the ambushed face of Bail Organa, peering out towards him with wary uncertainty.

"Well, who the hell was in charge of – "

Leia pushed her hand through her hair, her lips curling back in a snarl.

"Threkin Horm," she said hoarsely.

Han stood up, his hands curling into fists – that obsequious, arrogant –

"He – if anyone, I thought Horm would be desperate to prevent this, he's so," Leia broke off with another gasp – she'd been so sure Horm would make it his life's mission to conceal Han from Bail, since Horm thought it was so sordid and unsavory in the first place. She had clearly miscalculated; Horm had apparently gone the opposite route altogether: ambush Bail with the information to ensure it went as badly as possible.

Leia looked at the screen, and eerily, felt like her father was staring back at her, wounded, guarded, betrayed, demanding answers; she covered her face with her hands and tried to hold back tears – tears of panic, and of fury, fury at how relentless the galaxy's obsession with her happiness was.

She hadn't missed how they had made it seem like Han was as unsuitable as possible – bringing up the crime-ridden past, the Hutts, throwing his military title around like it was a sham.

She tried to turn away from the chaos happening on screen, and turned right into Han's chest, he'd walked up to catch her, and as he wrapped his arm around her, turned off the holo, leaving them in silence. He ran his hands over her back soothingly, trying not to think about the tone of dismissal Bail Organa had used so effortlessly –

 _I think you must be mistaken._

Han rested his chin on Leia's head; _no mistake, Viceroy_ , he thought warily.

With the proverbial bomb dropped, the only thing left to worry about was the fallout – would Bail make an enemy or a friend out of Han Solo; would he make his daughter's already tumultuous life easier – or would he, as she feared, obliterate the equilibrium she'd found since the end of the war.

* * *

 _hoo boy, that was fun !  
I think at least three people saw this coming. at least, on A03, three or so people mentioned the press conference in passing.  
_

 _-Alexandra_


	15. Fourteen

_a/n: okay - i'm VERY excited everyone liked the Han/Luke in last chapter. i was surprised it was so popular, but excited! i think i've said before that i just love, love, love writing Luke ... and now moving on: [note: trigger warning applies]._

* * *

 ** _Fourteen_**

* * *

Understandably, she couldn't sleep – and for once, she had neither the heart, nor the desire, to wake Han up. He slept easier than her, and when he did sleep, he slept like the dead, and there was nothing he could do about this. There had been little to do, in the aftermath, after watching the press conference spiral out of control, and though Han had clearly expected her to go dashing off to run damage control, she'd instead waited, white-faced, for a call from Rieekan or - or someone. When it didn't come, there'd been nothing else to do but go to bed, and when insomnia reached an unbearable peak and she became worried her restlessness might inadvertently disturb Han, she left their bedroom and ventured to the sofa in the living area.

It was where she sat now, curled up in a tense ball in the corner, clad in a short nightgown and a soft robe, her eyes focused on a muted screen – she stared, transfixed, as clips of the press conference were played on loop, juxtaposed with either quotes from her, or photos – evidence – of her relationship with Han.

She stared at her father's face as they kept zooming in on him; she stared at the sharp downturn of his mouth, and the hard line in his jaw; when she was a child, that line in his jaw had meant he was going to summon her to his office, shut the door, and talk to her so sternly she'd be contrite and morose for hours.

She'd become so conditioned to the constant barrage of gossip and interest, so hardened to it, but she suddenly saw it through her father's eyes – through Alderaanian eyes, even – and she felt freshly violated somehow; she felt exposed. She remembered early lessons in discretion, and how Alderaanians had always abhorred tasteless, salacious gossip and she felt sick to her stomach. She had made it a point to be clear about her relationship with Han, for his sake, and for hers, but now she questioned her execution – had she been disrespectful in her defiance; was there truth to Mon Mothma's chastisements?

She asked herself if she'd been presenting herself with power and confidence, or if she'd come off as a rebellious child – and then, she asked herself if she felt this way because of how her father might see it, or because she was seeing what she looked like second hand, rather than in first person.

At that gala – at that gala she'd felt firm in her convictions, fiercely proud of Han, confidently empowered in her own autonomy, but somehow, reflected back, the words she'd used sounded trite, petulant – like the sass of a sixteen-year-old brat who wanted to flout expectations for no other reason than to cause a stir.

She closed her eyes, pushing her hair back from her face – her uncertainty, and her dread, was building because of the _silence_ , the utter silence that had followed the conclusion of the conference. She had received no call from Mon Mothma, no page from Rieekan or Threkin Horm or Dodonna – no calls from Luke, even, or Winter.

She imagined her father demanding to know what was going on from everyone around him, and that only increased her ire and her anxiety, because she could only guess what sorts of things Han's detractors would say.

Leia struggled to decipher what Bail was thinking; there was so much happening on his face in the clips they had of him. She tried not to hear the tone of disbelief he'd spoke with at first, and then the sharp, no-nonsense tone he'd ended with when he'd said he had no comment on it.

She opened her eyes again, and found herself staring at the picture of herself and Han that had been shown live, earlier – the one from the balcony of the embassy. She compressed her lips, irritation flaring in her chest – she'd guessed it came from the security cameras, there was no other explanation. She remembered dragging Han with her back to her office one night after dinner, as she'd needed to get a few moments of work done. Han, bored out of his mind, had done everything in his power to distract her, which was why Leia was explicitly glad there were no cameras in her actual private office. It didn't take much for her to consider that Threkin Horm had provided this picture, and she suspected he'd chosen it because unlike other photos of them in public together, in this one she wasn't dressed in any sort of regalia, she was wearing a dress so short that it had clearly never been acquainted with her knees.

Horm's dislike of Han, his elitism and snobbery, ran cruelly deep, it manifested on a different level than Mon Mothma's stiff-necked disapproval and Jan Dodonna's old-fashioned, classist mores.

She thought abruptly of what Luke had told her so recently; that Bail was concerned about General Solo's lack of attention to her title, his _motives_ – oh, if he thought her that naïve still, if he already bristled at the idea of a Corellian commoner at her right hand –

She wished, grimly, for careless nights on the journey to Bespin, when, in the few moments she'd thought of her father, it had been easy to tell herself he would approve. The dead were infallible, but back in her life, now – Bail Organa was human, and he was every bit the regal aristocrat who had raised her.

She was roused from her silent ruminations by the soft chimes of the door, muted automatically because of the late hour – they were set to remain quiet in the evening, but ring louder if the caller was consistent – in case of emergencies. Leia half-rose from the couch, pursing her lips – the hour was late, beyond late, even, and her first instinct was to reach out through the Force and see if it was Luke. She was met with a sense of his slumber, and she pulled back quickly to avoid waking him.

She hardly wanted to risk the chimes increasing in volume and waking Han, so she brushed wrinkles from her night attire, and tightened the ribbon-like belt of the robe slightly, and made her way to the front. She was careful in opening the door due to her casual dress.

She supposed she wasn't exactly surprised to find her father standing there.

She held the door half-open, her body blocking the entrance. It struck her as odd that he'd only been here once before in the time since he'd been back – and then, of course, she remembered how he'd mistook Han's presence for official business.

Leia tilted her head, unsure what to do with her face – smile, frown? She wasn't even positive she wanted to invite him in.

He spoke first.

"I had a feeling you would be awake," he remarked calmly. "That much, I see, hasn't changed."

She inclined her head, acknowledging him – she'd always taken after him, in that respect. They had both been prone to wakefulness after tense political engagements or tough decisions. When she was in Aldera, she used to find her way to his office with a cup of hot tea, quietly watching him work away his insomnia until she herself fell asleep in her chair. The things that kept her awake these days were very different than the things that had kept her awake on Alderaan, but the principle was the same.

"May I come in, Leia?" he asked heavily.

She grappled with the question briefly, and then she simply nodded silently and stepped aside, gesturing him towards the sitting room and securing the door behind him. She put a hand to her temple a moment, steeling herself, and then overtook him into the living room.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, gesturing again to offer him a seat.

He turned to her, stopping short of sitting on the sofa, and shook his head, his expression pinching up slightly.

"There's no need for formalities, Leia," he answered. "We're alone – and as we are alone, I'd ask you to try and remember that I'm your father, and not a foreign dignitary you need to be cordial with."

There was bitterness in his tone, and she sensed her reticence must have bothered him more than she initially thought. Still, she had to clench her teeth suddenly to keep from biting back at him about fathers and formalities – she remained silent because the anger that snapped through her suddenly was too volatile to give into, and furthermore, she didn't immediately tell him that they weren't exactly alone.

Bail sat down heavily on the edge of the sofa, his brow furrowed deeply, and Leia remained standing, her arms folded protectively in front of her. She watched him study his hands for a moment, and then he looked up – expectantly.

"It's very late," she said neutrally.

"Yes, yes, it's late," he agreed, agitated. "But I'm up, and you're up, and I thought it best to make use of that rather than waiting for you to issue me a diplomatic statement about what just," he gestured stiffly at the mounted holoscreen, " _happened_ , earlier this evening."

She bristled slightly.

"I intended to see you in the morning – a diplomatic statement?" she retorted quietly. She compressed her lips. "Comprised of what? You think I don't respect you enough to – "

He held up his hand.

"Before you start on respect," he began coolly, in a tone she remembered well from her childhood, "I want you to clarify what's going on with you and this General Solo."

Leia pressed her teeth into the tip of her tongue, her expression unreadable, and after a moment, she stepped forward and sat down on the edge of a table in the middle of the room, facing her father at an angle.

"What did you hear from Mon Mothma and the others?" she asked.

"Does that matter?"

"Yes," she said emphatically.

"I'll consider your words much more valuable, Leia," he said shortly.

She mentally filed that statement away in case he needed to be reminded of it later. She said nothing, though, and waited pointedly – she had no idea what had happened behind the scenes when they hustled him away from the conference.

Bail gave her a look and then reached up to rub his jaw tightly.

"They didn't tell me anything," he said finally. "I got the feeling Jan had a few things to say, but Mon's final word on the matter was that they didn't have the authority to speak."

Leia allowed herself a moment to be impressed, even grateful. Regardless of how the Alliance leadership had viewed her affair, they had at least – at Mon Mothma's behest, it seemed – kept their biased mouths shut, their opinions locked away.

Bail considered her seriously.

"I'm assuming you are the authority on the matter," he remarked, the barest tinge of sarcasm in his tone.

"It is _my_ personal life," she said edgily.

His almond-coloured eyes didn't leave hers, and she leaned forward, bracing her palm lightly on the edge of the table.

"I don't know what word to use," she said truthfully, delicately – _boyfriend_ seemed juvenile, _betrothed_ was political, _fiancé_ was probably too much for Bail to take in; _lover_ would be an unkind shock – _paramour,_ even worse. "I'm involved with him."

"In a capacity that is _other_ than professional," Bail surmised immediately.

"He's not my pilot," she said dryly, indicating she knew what he'd asked Luke.

Her father looked irritated, concerned, wary – a hundred things at once. He put one hand on his knee, leaning forward, holding the other out tensely.

"This isn't something I should have been ambushed with, Leia," he said sharply. "This – _Force_ , this could have been in the files." His tone was accusatory, defensive.

"It wasn't relevant to the political points – would you see it as some sort of footnote? You'd care to find out about something – some _one_ – that important to me via a _footnote_?" she asked intently.

"I don't know how important he is to you!" Bail snapped. "I don't know a damn thing about the man except for the – the – high crimes and misdemeanors that plagued his file – you never thought to mention, before you loosed the press on me, that you were involved in some sordid affair with a – with a – "

"As you've already mentioned not knowing a damn thing about the man, I suggest you choose your next words carefully," Leia interjected curtly.

"What is it I should know, Leia?" he demanded. "You didn't see fit to enlighten me before the press did."

She parted her lips, her heart beating rapidly.

"Father – you and the others were pulled out of the depths of space and thrust into a completely new era. You hadn't realized five years had passed and we felt – I agreed – that the important thing was shoring up your knowledge and ensuring you were coping with the structure of the present," she explained tightly. "There was significant risk in allowing you to be bombarded by all sides with the petty gossip of the present when in your frame of mind, the Emperor was still in charge."

Bail's temple twitched, and his jaw tightened.

"There was more than enough time to give a brief mention of the 'petty gossip'," he said the words sourly, "that would be thrown at me in a public setting, especially if it concerns your good name – "

"We put our trust in the wrong individual when it came to vetting the reporters," Leia said darkly. "An Alderaanian, as it were," she added, and then studied him critically for a moment. "What about my _good name_? Have you heard it besmirched?" she challenged.

"I've heard it," he retorted callously, "associated with a contract smuggler and an extremely public romantic affair!"

"Han is a commissioned General of this Republic," Leia said, trying to remain calm.

"If I remember correctly, he only joined for the last few crucial weeks – "

" _Officially_ ," she snapped. "Officially – he's a decorated war hero, and since the Victory, he's led campaigns – "

"He was an emergency appointee made under the duress of dire need," Bail said critically. "Come to think of it, the most significant part of his file I'm remembering now seems to be that he was accused of kidnapping you!"

Leia drew back stiffly. She had argued against the files including that initial investigation, but Dodonna had been adamant that every file be comprised of Rebellion missives, reports, investigations, and documents in utter correctness. Due to the length of time she and Han had essentially disappeared completely after Hoth, and the fact that she'd returned to the Rebellion with _out_ him and _with_ Luke after their run in with Vader, Mon Mothma has refused to believe for some time that things were as Leia said. She should have realized it was Dodonna's subtle attempt to paint Han with a blacker brush than he deserved.

"That incident," she said coolly, "was merely one of several times Han risked his life to save mine."

She was quiet for a moment, and then she folded her hands stiffly in her lap, considering his other outburst.

"I haven't been crass or overt," she said tensely. "The media obsession with my relationship with Han is unwelcome, and invasive, but it's the price paid for a public figure – you know as well as I do that leaders are subject to scrutiny."

"And you know very well the impetus behind this scrutiny," her father returned. "It starts," he said tightly, "with a general disregard for your station and the expectations of an aristocrat and it ends with your very public snub of a foreign prince."

Leia compressed her lips. She lifted her chin, but she flicked her eyes away – she had no real desire to attempt to defend her behavior at that gala; it looked different now, with so many key Alderaanians back reminding her of who she'd once been. Still, she wouldn't allow him to imply she'd forgotten everything she represented.

"I snubbed the increasingly offensive assumption that I was a bartering chip intended for the most lucrative bidder," she noted firmly. "There was no diplomatic damage done from that remark – Father," she said, almost heavily, "years in hiding, years of bloody battles, after the complete destruction of Alderaan, puts the concept of _status_ into perspective."

"I would think," he answered quietly, "that it would impress upon you all the more what it means to be the last Princess of Alderaan."

Her chest tightened, and she bit down on her tongue – not to hold back a response, but to keep from gasping. He couldn't possibly understand how she had struggled with her position, how she had agonized over the ramifications of a relationship with Han. She'd born the disgruntled reactions of others before, but it stung so much more coming from him. Perhaps because it only reminded her of how starkly different her world was now, and how starkly different she was than she used to be.

He seemed to be looking at Han the same way she'd seen him when he stormed around Yavin collecting his payment, though for Bail, the added shock of Han being a virtual nobody – to him – was also salient.

"I stood there like a fool, Leia," he said heavily. "While this – significant thing you kept me in the dark about flashed before my eyes."

She looked at him guardedly.

"Are you angriest because you weren't privy to the information, or because of who he is?" She paused. "Or, rather, who you perceive he is?"

"Perceive?" Bail quoted curtly.

"You've been derogatory about him," she clarified "despite having very little information at all – and you met him, Father, he led the rescue mission – you could consider, for a moment, that your dismissive reaction is why I wanted to save personal issues for when the dust had settled."

"You're surprised by my reaction?" he retorted sharply. "By a negative reaction to your involvement with a man who is – who is at least ten years your senior – and any sense of tact, Leia, any foresight, would have definitely suggested you broach this subject with me to give me half a moment to assess my opinion on the matter – "

"Your opinion is not the concern," she interrupted rashly. "There's no decision here, there's no uncertainty – Han is a reality, and he exists in a permanent place in my life and I wanted to temper the resistance you might have to that by letting you adjust to the galaxy first – "

"You should have told me," he broke in firmly. His eyes narrowed. "I can't begin to think about what's appropriate or if he's – suitable – what kind of man he is," Bail sputtered, "though I will say that your remarkable secrecy about it does raise red flags – "

"That has nothing to do - !"

"—and the fact that the both of you let me assume I was intruding on something professional and not personal last week is an act of deception I'd never have expected – "

"You'd never expect deception from _me_? The daughter you raised to _bring down a government from the inside?"_ she demanded loudly, rising from her seat. "I cut my teeth on political maneuvering and I earned my stripes through semantics and subterfuge!"

"Necessary traits to fight a war, Leia, but I never expected it to be turned on me!"

"Why?" she fired back coldly. "Because deception has never occurred in House Organa before?"

He looked up at her critically, sensing the loaded meaning in her words. She drew back, folding her arms tightly. The shoulder of her robe lazily dropped off her shoulder, and she forgot to pay any attention to their rising volume, the late hour – or the fact that Han was asleep in the bedroom.

"What _deception_ are you talking about?" Bail asked quietly.

"Are you prepared to get into a discussion of the things you've kept from me, Father?" she asked icily.

His face turned white, and he stared at her for a moment before standing, and then she was looking up at him again.

"Your safety – " he began hoarsely. He faltered; he was clearly dumbstruck, caught off guard, unsure of where to start on _this_ topic. "If I had told you – if you'd known about Vader – he'd have pulled it out of your head – "

"He never," she said carefully, quietly, "pulled a thing," she held his gaze, "out of my head."

She wanted to add that he'd tried; that black-clad bastard had tried within an inch of his life to wrench the location of the rebel base from her, to get anything from her; she still remembered the cold, shaken feeling that shot down her spine when put his gloved hand on her head and tried to rip information from her mind; there had been something instinctual in how she'd fought him off. He'd come close to rendering her beyond repair, but she'd resisted him spectacularly enough that an entire planet paid the price.

"Leia," Bail began hoarsely. "There's so much you have to understand – "

"I doubt that your resentment of Han bears any resemblance to the unmitigated horror I felt when I found out about Vader."

Her voice hushed when she said his name, rasped like it was a struggle to get it out.

There were two issues at hand: her father's struggle to grasp the massive changes that had taken place, his negative, though perhaps not necessarily unpredictable, reaction to his daughter's choice in consort – and her personal strife with her own identity, what part he had in it, and how she could ever reconcile the innocent, reverent love she'd once had for him with the disillusionment she'd been feeling recently over her entire upbringing.

"Vader," he began flippantly, his jaw tight – he was oblivious to her wince. "Lelila – "

"Please don't call me that right now."

"Leia," he corrected, gaining strength. "These are two separate conversations," he said, teeth gritted. "Unless you're implying that – the _General_ ," somehow the way he said _general_ dripped with contempt, "has convinced you that because of Vader and the Death Star, you're not worthy of anyone better."

His words made her dizzy – and somewhere deep down, on a logical level, she knew that he was talking purely about pedigree; he didn't have any idea just how worthless she'd felt at the hands of Vader, and Tarkin's, men on the Death Star, and he had no idea how instrumental Han had been in correcting those dark thoughts.

She wasn't seeing straight when she raised her arm sharply, instinctively, poised for a sharp slap across the face – the way she'd slapped Han once or twice, in the early days, when he'd run his mouth past teasing into genuinely hurtful. The thought of Han, an image of his face, stopped her from actually slapping her father, but for a moment she saw the startled look on Bail's face when he realized what she'd almost done.

And then, quite suddenly, she realized she hadn't been imagining Han's face. He was standing there, behind Bail, behind the sofa. His hair was a mess and he was without a shirt; he looked tired, and incredibly angry, and she knew immediately the anger had nothing to do with being woken up.

He might have been more reserved had it been a more decent hour, or a different circumstance, but his immediate reaction to hearing raised voices, and hearing the tail end of the fight as he walked in, was not to practice restraint.

"What in _seven_ _hells_ is going on?" he demanded, his gaze fixed tensely on the back of Bail's head – and then on the Viceroy's face, as he whipped around to face the new voice.

Leia lifted one of her hands to her lips as her father's face swiveled between them for a moment.

"You might have warned me he was here," Bail said tersely.

"I live here," Han said bluntly, with little care given to the fact that this was his first non-official, strictly personal meeting with Leia's father. He didn't waste time going easy on the man, either, because Bail Organa was a stranger to him, an invader; it was Leia he cared about. "It's the middle of the night," he said roughly. "I think it's time for you to go."

Bail looked taken aback – mollified, affronted, unsure of how to react. Han moved his gaze from Bail to Leia, waiting for a moment to see if she was going to reprimand him, or let him essentially kick her father out.

Leia said nothing, so Han stuck to his guns.

"He _lives_ with you?" Bail asked Leia hoarsely.

"Viceroy," Han said harshly, ignoring him. "You don't get to barge in here and lecture her. They might've forced some discipline on me when they commissioned me," he warned, "but I still remember how to kick someone out."

Astonished - both at being spoken to so irreverently, and at the general blow it was to understand the full extent of his daughter's _involvement_ with General Solo– Bail stood in silence, finally looking to Leia in either – either outrage or defiance, she wasn't quite sure.

He clearly expected her to mediate, if not reprimand Han entirely.

Instead, she tilted her head subtly, and said very quietly:

"You should go."

It took him only a moment to realize she was right. He straightened his shoulders, trying to guard his expression against the overwhelming assault of emotions plaguing him – he had instigated an impossible situation, tensions were running too high, and he still – Gods help him, he realized he still hadn't really processed these massive shifts in the galaxy.

"You need me to see you out?" Han asked stiffly.

Bail did not acknowledge the caustic remark, not with a glance, not with a response; what he did do was step forward and, on a whim, take Leia's hand, the one she'd almost turned against him, and squeeze it. He pressed it to his lips in a chaste kiss that he hoped was – reassuring, somehow; she refused to meet his eyes for a moment, and when she did, she pulled her hand away, and he couldn't even begin to decipher what she was thinking.

He moved past her to exit, and Han couldn't resist –

"Viceroy?" he said curtly, pausing only for a second – he didn't care if he had Bail's attention. "She'll come to you," Han asserted.

Implicitly, he made it clear he didn't want something like this happening again; next time, Leia had a right to ensure the confrontation on her terms, which she'd wanted anyway, until someone – Threkin Horm – had utterly ripped that away from her.

He allowed himself a little surprise when Bail turned, gave him a hard look, and nodded once. Han's defensive, tense stance didn't dissipate even when the lock on the front door clicked shut; he stood where he was, on edge, his eyes on Leia. He doubted he'd made a good impression – his meeting with Bail as General Solo, rescuer, had gone smoothly; his introduction as Han Solo, Princess Leia's lover, was as spiky as the ridged back of a rancor – but he'd never set much store by first impressions, anyway; if he had, he'd never have ended up with Leia.

He vaguely regretted making things harder on her if he had, but he wasn't about to apologize for throwing Bail out – he couldn't really be expected to understand how badly Leia coped with Vader, but that didn't mean Han had to let him obliviously harp on.

"I – he came over, he's upset," she said shakily. "I had to let him in."

She sat down, grasping behind her blindly to make sure she didn't miss the table and drop to the floor. She put her head against her palm, and Han moved around the sofa, sitting down on the edge. He reached out and touched her knee.

"Sweetheart," he said gruffly.

"He's just in shock," she whispered hoarsely, almost to herself. "It's all been such a shock."

She closed her eyes tightly. Han's eyes narrowed.

"He told you Vader made you wor – "

"No," she gasped, cutting him off. She shook her head. "No, he didn't – you walked in at the end," she insisted. She looked up earnestly, her eyes red. "I swear, Han, I know he's – that's not what he said, he was suggesting that you, that I'm," she broke off helplessly.

She didn't want Han thinking her father had said something that repulsive to her, but she also didn't want to tell Han what he'd actually implied – Han was likely to march out after him and give him an infamous right hook. She didn't want to talk about Vader at all; in fact, discussing him as a torturer at almost the same time as discussing him as her progenitor was making her feel sick.

Han leaned forward and gently tried to draw her hands away from her face, wrapping his fingers around her wrists. She lifted her head, but shook him off, her hands shaking.

"Don't touch me right now," she requested softly – it was a gentle rebuke, apologetic. He drew his hands back obediently. "Just not right now," she said, her lashes fluttering. "Not while I'm thinking of other people's hands."

He swallowed, rubbing his palms on knees tensely. It had been so long since she was like this, he'd forgotten how useless it could make him feel to just sit with her, paralyzed.

"Go back to bed, Han," she said hoarsely. "Leave me alone for a little while."

Again, it wasn't malicious; it wasn't rejection – she, too, was surprised by how badly this swirl of darkness had abruptly hit her, and Han – Han was going to blame it on her father, but Bail couldn't really know that talking to her about the Death Star was like playing roulette with a blaster - -she never knew when the trigger was going to unleash a bullet.

Han leaned back, giving her space. He'd acquiesce to the first part of her request, because he was wise enough to know he didn't want his hands associated with whatever traumatic memories were piercing her psyche, but he balked at leaving her alone.

"I'm stayin' right here, Princess."

She smiled, laughed quietly, looked up at him as if she were frustrated with him, and then looked back down and started to cry. It was such a quick succession of emotion in seconds, and it was difficult for him to sit still instead of leaning forward and pulling her into a hug. But he had the restraint to wait, and wait he did, until she finally got up and curled up against him, exhausted by the effort of staving off her demons.

He ran his hand through her hair until she stopped crying, and then until the knots were gone, and then until, somehow, she fell asleep. He knew he'd be sore if he slept on the couch instead of taking her to bed, but he didn't want to risk the slights chance of waking her – and he told himself, grudgingly, that if this baptism-by-fire was any indication of what was to come in life with a living Bail Organa, he'd better get used to discomfort.

* * *

Shaken by what he considered to be one of the only truly nasty fights he'd ever had with his daughter – though one of the others had been over a strangely similar topic – Bail Organa found himself even more unable to sleep when he returned to the old state quarters at the Alderaanian Embassy. He, Rouge, and Winter had been assigned here temporarily – he and Rouge because their station required it, and Winter because she was still viewed as a surrogate daughter under his care.

He was able to sit in stony silence and reflect in solitude over what had transpired for a few troubled hours before his sister appeared, her face pinched and suspicious, and started causing a ruckus that ultimately brought a bleary-eyed Winter stumbling into the kitchen, shooting glares at Rouge as she made kaffe.

"What were they, Bail?" Rouge continued demanding, all traces of slumber gone the instant she saw him sitting there so stoically, and so obviously distressed. "Rumors, falsehoods? But if so – what about that photograph – dallying with a man in public like that; and what on earth was she wearing? You'd think she was raised on – on – _Naboo_ , those former queens of theirs always went _wild_ when they transferred into the Senate – "

Closing his eyes briefly to Rouge's histrionic tirade, Bail tried not to wince at the reference to wild senators from Naboo. Rouge had no inkling of Leia's true heritage, of course, but his sisters – Celly especially – had always regarded his close friendship with Senator Padme Naberrie with suspicion and irritation.

He was having enough difficulty himself coming to grips with the changes in the world, and in his daughter; Rouge's hysterical dramatics were not helping.

"You went to speak with her, didn't you?" Rouge demanded. "I cannot believe she would forget herself – but those images, those recordings, they can't be doctored – did you know Winter met him, _Winter_ had dinner with them, recently? He was in her apartment after hours; can you believe – "

"I'm sure I do believe it, as he apparently resides there," Bail said flatly, finally interrupting.

He opened his eyes, listening to the momentary silence that fell as his sister froze. She'd been pacing behind him, and the motion stopped for a moment as she let out a scandalized squeak.

"She _lives_ with the man?" Rouge lamented. "Outside of _marriage_?"

Bail rolled his eyes, turning slightly in his chair. He'd been shocked to find her cohabitating with General Solo, as well, but not necessarily for _that_ reason. His disconcertion was more—the entire affair overall.

"Believe it or not, Rouge, that is not my primary concern about the issue."

She gave him a stunned look.

"There are scores of old royal houses who won't consider her hand for their sons if they view her to be – impure," Rouge reminded him.

"I'm well aware of that," Bail said shortly, "but Alderaan does –ah, did – not have a monarchy that practices archaic chastity customs, and you know as well as I do that Leia was not raised in the Old Faith."

"It doesn't matter," Rouge snapped, folding her arms and yanking out a chair. She leaned forward honestly. " _Discretion_ was the key to Alderaan's deviation from the customs, and she's publicly entertaining a," Rouge paused, searching for a word, "a – mistress."

Winter laughed loudly from the kitchen and then, as if she could feel her adoptive aunt's menacing glare, hastily hushed herself up and began banging cups around as she readied three kaffes.

Rouge flushed.

"I don't know what word to use for a Princess's _kept_ man," she said crisply.

Bail considered her a moment, and then lifted one brow.

"From what I gathered, she doesn't pay him, Rouge, so I'd call him her boyfriend at the least," he said curtly.

Rouge's lips compressed unhappily, and she glowered at him.

"You seem quite amused by all of this, Bail," she snapped. "A damn sight more blasé about the situation than you were last night."

He considered her for a moment, and his shoulders fell. He shook his head, sighing heavily. His poster sagged and he leaned against the back of the chair for support, a pained expression on his face.

"I'm not amused," he corrected warily. He was quiet for a moment – too quiet for Rouge, and she cleared her throat.

"Well?" she asked tightly, smacking her hand on the table. "What did she have to say for herself?"

"She was reticent about it," Bail said edgily, his jaw tightening. "There's hardly much that's left to the imagination," he added tensely, giving Rouge an irritated look. "She lives with him, she's rejected suitors in his name," he listed. He drummed his fingers on the table. "Frankly, from the look in Mon Mothma's eyes, I got the impression it's not an entirely new thing."

Rouge grit her teeth.

"There's no decorum in it," she said desperately. "She's the crown Princess of Alderaan, and he's a common – he's a _thief_."

"Smuggler," Winter corrected mildly, coming in with a tray and taking a seat.

Rouge gave her a withering look.

"There's little difference."

"Actually, most smugglers operate on a code of legitimacy. Though outside the conventional law, it confers a general honor among their ranks," Winter said brightly. "Thieves are a baser kind of human."

Rouge's expression pinched up even more, and Winter distributed mugs, raising hers to her lips and turning her cool, calm eyes on her foster father thoughtfully. She had advised him not to go marching off to Leia's in full "Dad" mode, or risk damaging things. He had ignored her, and she sensed he had meddled in precisely the wrong way.

"The man must be nearing _forty_ – and she's a child-"

"He's not forty," Winter snorted.

"I said _nearing_ forty."

"Well, he's not _that_ close to forty," Winter retorted. "And Leia's not a _child,"_ she said, arching a brow. "She aged, you know. She's twenty-five now."

Rouge grit her teeth angrily.

"She's acting like a child, then," she snapped, "and he's after her money, or her power – Bail, for Goddess' sake, she can't be serious. She's being manipulated, used, and she can't see it – "

Bail held up his hand, his jaw tightening.

"Leia's never been an idiot, Rouge," he said bluntly. "If anything, her brief indiscretion with Giles Durane sharpened her ability to identify that sort of thing at the outset," he added bitterly.

"But that's what this reminds you of," Winter spoke up carefully. "Giles."

Giles had been Leia's martial arts and weapons master the year before she ran for Senate. He had owed a debt of sorts to Bail, and had been hired to ensure she could defend herself against growing threats against her life – threats she incurred as Bail's daughter, and as an outspoken Imperial dissident in her own right. He'd essentially preyed on what had been a girlish crush, and most of it had gone on without Bail's knowledge, though he'd discovered it when incriminating photographs appeared. It was nothing that crossed an ultimate line, and the possible scandal had been eviscerated before anyone outside of the royal family knew, but that Leia had almost been victimized still haunted him.

Although it was fair to acknowledge that Leia had sworn up and down no one had victimized her, and she was only facing a problem because there were photographs involved. Winter had always thought Bail considered it more predatory than it was; it was the wisdom of age that told Bail the situation had been much more out of Leia's control than she thought.

"I'm not implying that Leia isn't intelligent," Rouge snapped, "but men who look like that can turn any girl's head, no matter how astronomical the IQ."

Bail turned and blinked at his sister pointedly, and Winter daintily picked up a spoon and a decanter of syrup from the tray she'd brought in with the kaffe.

"It sounds as if we better warn Leia your head is quite turned by her man, Auntie," she said keenly.

Bail shook his head, a grim smile touching his lips, and Rouge turned scarlet with outrage – clearly having not thought out her words. She fell into a fit of fuming silence, and Winter angled herself towards Bail a little more, taking up Leia's defense.

"It's nothing like Giles," Winter said mildly, stirring syrup into her kaffe with a thoughtful look at Bail. "Leia's not sixteen anymore. She's not even nineteen anymore," she reminded him. "She told me about him, about this," she said earnestly. "Rouge is right, I met him – he was very funny, and it seemed like he's very in love with her."

Somehow, Winter's attempt at mediation only served to rattle Bail more, and he held up his hand.

"That's quite enough," he said, too sharply. "I don't need to be reminded that you saw fit to conceal this from me as well." He turned his dark eyes on her reprovingly. "I doubt your opinion is very neutral – you're likely as giddy over him as you both used to be over that blasted Corellian holovision show."

Winter bit her tongue, her expression hardening with hurt – she wasn't used to Bail writing her off, and she very much wasn't used to being degraded as an empty-headed teen girl. She lifted her mug to her lips, but pulled away, resigned – and Rouge leapt in, seizing on the comment.

" _That's_ it – she's got her head turned right around chasing a childish fantasy; Bail," Rouge said tersely, "You can easily see to it that she comes to her senses – "

Bail grit his teeth stiffly, and shook his head, effectively cutting Rouge off with his expression.

"Rouge," he said shortly, frustrated. "I hardly think it's that simple – need I reiterate that she lives with the man?" he asked callously. "And for what it's worth, he seemed confident enough in his place in her affections to kick me out of her apartment," he added heavily, siting backwards again.

Winter's eyes widened slightly, and she lowered her mug, hugging it with her palms. Rouge looked startled, and was silent for a moment. She sat back and folded her arms.

"And," she began carefully, "and – Leia, she – let him speak to you that way? She let him kick you out?"

Bail didn't answer verbally, but his silence was acknowledgement. Winter frowned, troubled – she'd gotten no impression that Han Solo was hostile towards Leia's father when she met him, and he'd been perfectly laid back meeting Winter herself – which caused her to think something must have happened, something else, that had provoked a side of the man that Winter hadn't yet seen.

Bail leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. His kaffe sat untouched, and he put his knuckles against his temples, hanging his head. Steam from the mug curled up and misted his face, making his eyes water. He closed them tiredly – his head ached, he felt overwhelmed, he felt lost – he felt frustrated and angry. He was thrust into a world in which Alderaan didn't exist, in which a New Republic was on the verge of full power – in which he barely had a place, and his daughter had grown up so much, he didn't know who he was to her – or who she was, at all.

He would never begrudge her strength, but was she strong, or was she defiant and out of control – he'd been disturbed by the reports he read concerning her torture on the Death Star, more disturbed to know that what was in her file was apparently not the full story – but Mon Mothma and Jan Dodonna's thinly veiled disapproval of Solo made him suspicious of the whole thing altogether; he trusted them, and before all this had occurred, he had trusted them to watch out for her - they _must_ have their reasons for disapproval. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was in some sort of despair – the Leia he'd raised would have never been so publicly cavalier about her personal life, or so disrespectful to her title, and status –

And then there were her accusations about deception, about his lies. _Force,_ had he ever truly planned how those revelations would play out? Her gradual introduction to Obi-Wan Kenobi and her natural brother had obviously never had the chance to unfold in the carefully controlled manner he wanted, and now he faced a girl who was angry, who'd fought battles in the past five years instead of stayed in the underground diplomatic channels that had been there for her –

He shook his head, opening his eyes. He stared down at the kaffe.

"Bail," Rouge said intemperately. "You must do something about this. The defining legacy of Alderaan cannot be their last Princess slumming with a smuggler."

Rouge's words sounded vague and blurry, though, and so did Winter's, when she responded –

"We're living in a sharply different world, Aunt Rouge, and you may have to adapt or become obsolete."

Rouge shot a bitter retort back, and Bail did not lift his head, or speak a word to quell them. He ran a hand over his face and sat back, his eyes fixed on them hazily, and his thoughts went back to his confrontation with Leia – the way she'd raised her hand to slap him, the stricken look on her face, the cold determination in her eyes – and General Han Solo, standing there like he owned her, commanding the Viceroy of Alderaan to stay away until he was summoned.

His expression darkened with consternation, with uncertainty – _was_ he angry about Solo, or was Solo a scapegoat for the weight of everything else – why was Leia so unlike how he'd imagined, and why in the hell – _why in the hell_ – couldn't he see through the immediately protective, probably irrational resentment and affront he felt regarding this entire affair?

* * *

There were no holos on the _Falcon,_ and since Han had moved it to a more private hangar, it was a good place to hide – hide from the flood of reporters, hide from the constant barrage of images of herself flickering across the screens. This time, the flurry of media attention honed in on her father; he was being plagued as he moved about – he was being pegged with questions.

And every time Leia heard his stiff, cold response –

" _I won't comment on Princess Leia or her personal affairs."_

 _-_ she thought of him standing in her apartment last night, looking at her with the same odd mixture disappointment, anger, and guilt that he'd given her when the Giles Durane incident had come to his attention. It was a look that still had the power to make her feel small, and deeply ashamed, to her very core – though the difference was that when she was sixteen, she'd rejected Giles and everything he'd done to betray her, and sought comfort and protection in her father's arms, and now she found herself close to rejecting her father.

She was curled up in one of the seats in the cockpit, peering at the array of controls. Chewbacca sat in his large, comfortably modified seat, carefully re-wiring something, occasionally offering her a growl of comfort or a few words of casual conversation. He had not seemed surprised to find her on the ship when he appeared, but they were both surprised Han wasn't around.

 _[Did Han do okay with the reporters earlier?]_ Chewbacca grumbled gently.

Leia smiled, her head cushioned against the back of the seat. She gave no thought to how wrinkled her official dress was getting as she drew her legs into the chair with her, making herself smaller. Her next appointment was at the closed courts, and as difficult as the testimony at the War Crime Tribunals could be for her, she greatly preferred it to the rabid gossip mongers.

"He was Han," she answered pointedly.

 _[Ah, so he broke three noses and accidentally dismembered someone? Claimed it wasn't his fault?]_

Leia laughed in spite of herself.

"He didn't say anything," she noted. "He did elbow someone. A little."

She'd watched the footage on one of her morning breaks – holos were always on in her office, and Han's action had been subtle enough not to warrant an actual outcry. She could only tell it was deliberate from the tight look around his jaw and the glimmer of satisfaction that leapt into his eyes when he turned and went the other direction.

She tilted her head.

"Accidentally dismembered someone?" she quoted.

Chewie snuffled.

 _[I was exaggerating.]_ Chewie placated.

"I'll say. It would take significant skill to accidentally dismember someone."

Chewie gave a short howl of laughter.

 _[Haven't you noticed that at least seventy percent of Han's successes are an accident?]_

Leia laughed again.

"Oh, Chewie. You love him."

 _[Troublesome cub.]_ Chewie growled, though it was affectionate. He sat back and turned in the chair, his large, expressive eyes turning on her thoughtfully.

She constantly found herself amazed by how much wisdom and intelligence simmered in the Wookiee's eyes. Not because she thought alien species somehow less than her, but because she always forgot that Chewie was not only much older than herself, but much older than Han, as well. She'd been delighted to find, when she began to understand him, that he offered some of the sagest council she'd ever been given.

He was a blessing to her, an invaluable friend, and she considered him as much a part of her family as Han did.

 _[I told Han he should bring you to Kashyyyk for a visit with Malla and Lumpy]_ he rumbled _. [You deserve a nice, peaceful getaway.]_

"That's very kind," she said softly. "I would love to meet Malla and your son properly," she told him sincerely. She had only heard about them; her one opportunity to meet them had been interrupted when they came out of hyperspace to find Kashyyyk interdicted, and the Empire waiting for them. She flashed a wry smile. "You know, I'm fond of those woven flower crowns your women wear in Bonding ceremonies," she confessed.

Chewbacca's face lit up. He snickered, his lips pulling back in a grin.

 _[It's a Wookiee male's job to make it for the ceremony, paying careful attention to what flowers the mate would like.]_ he advised _. [I'll tell Han to get busy.]_ he added smugly.

Leia ran her hand across her lips and smirked, imagining Han braiding her a flower crown with the utmost concentration. She broke into quiet laughter, and shook her head, her expression saddening somewhat.

"Tell him if he can find me molushkas, he can have me," she teased, referencing one of Alderaan's native beauties - molushkas were lost forever; they were so endangered that they had never been transferred and planted at the Embassy greenhouses, and so had perished with Alderaan. Large and sun-bright yellow, with unique purple flecks, they had smelled like pure honey and been Leia's favorite.

Chewbacca cocked his head at her, and rumbled at her softly, a hesitant question. Han had told him he asked her to marry him, but he didn't necessarily believe that. Han ran his mouth a lot, and it was likely he'd imagined asking Leia to marry him, just like he'd imagined her being in love with him for a whole year before she ever warmed up. Leia flushed, and looked around warily, as if suddenly prying eyes or ears would appear and overhear them. She looked back, sighing quietly, and nodded.

"Yes, he did ask me to marry him," she agreed quietly. She smiled tiredly. "We had a Republic to build," she said heavily, "and I – well, things were just settling enough to talk about it, and now," she trailed off.

Before the Alderaanians had been found, the thing that had bothered her most about marrying him was – how to get married? Did she want to run away from everything and everyone, have a private ceremony, never really announce it, keep it personal? Did she want a state wedding, a traditional Alderaanian wedding to honor her people - -did she want to ask him if he wanted a Corellian wedding? Did she want to change her name, was the whole thing going to create a crisis of state concerning his rank or position – and to what extent was she supposed to balance her political life with her personal happiness?

Those had been the questions on her mind and now – now the question of what kind of ceremony seemed maddeningly immaterial, faced with the return of her father and other Alderaanian nobles – now she feared being asked to renounce either Han, or her titles, and while she wasn't so shallow that she longed to be a Princess, she loved the planet that had taken her in, and it would hurt her to flout the people.

But she thought it would hurt her infinitely more to dismiss Han and, in doing so, hurt him.

She lifted her head.

"Why don't we take you up on the offer, and get Bonded on Kashyyyk?" she asked lightly, her voice hoarse.

Chewbacca looked at her very seriously.

 _[My wife loves planning Bondings]_ he said. _[Don't even mention it unless you're serious.]_ He paused. _[When she found out Han had a mate, she wanted to know everything about you.]_

Leia flushed, taken aback, but pleased. She smiled at the Wookiee, her nose wrinkling affectionately. There was something satisfying about the word mate – primal, but satisfying.

"Was it so surprising that Han found a mate?" she asked wryly.

Chewbacca shrugged.

 _[His relationships never ended well.]_ the Wookiee answered cryptically.

Leia noticed he didn't mention one night stands, and she compressed her lips thoughtfully. She didn't know much about Han's love life prior to their relationship. He never really mentioned it, and she hadn't felt she needed to inquire – and he'd never probed her, either, though no doubt he thought at her age, being only eighteen when she joined the senate and twenty-one or so when she involved herself with him, there wasn't much to tell.

Chewbacca blinked at her carefully, tilting his head sharply.

 _[Don't hurt him, little cub]_ he growled softly. _[I don't like him when he's hurt]_ he added darkly.

Leia smiled at Chewbacca.

"You know," she said quietly, "it's refreshing to have someone warn me to be careful with him."

It was always the other way around. Han seemed to get chastised from every direction, and no one ever seemed to think for a second that the one they called Ice Princess might do any damage to him.

There was a sharp tap in the wall, and both Chewie and Leia turned their heads at the sound.

"You two want to tell me why I missed the invite to this little party?" Han drawled, narrowing his eyes.

Chewbacca retorted with a rude comment.

"What're you two talking about?" Han asked suspiciously.

Leia gestured demurely at Chewie.

"This good fellow was just inquiring as to my intentions concerning you," she said dramatically.

Han shot Chewie a scowl. Leia nodded, sitting up some.

"He's very concerned about your virtue," she quipped.

"My virture," Han snorted sarcastically. "Is rotting somewhere on the streets of Coronet City."

Chewbacca got up, shaking his paw at Han menacingly.

 _[You sound like an untamed animal.]_ he griped, inching past Han and exiting the cockpit.

"I _am_ an untamed animal," Han retorted smugly, shooting a look at his co-pilot's departing form and then leaning down to press a kiss to Leia's lips. "And what about _your_ virtue, huh?" he teased lightly. "Sure are a lot of people worried about that."

Leia tilted her head towards the entrance.

"Shall I tell them it's rotting somewhere in the sheets of that bunk back there?" she asked, widening her eyes innocently.

"Hey, hey now," Han said, giving her a stern look. "I've washed those sheets."

Leia giggled quietly, and clasped his jaw in her hands, pulling him forward for another kiss.

"You're a completely corrupt vagabond," she accused huskily.

In response, he pulled back, and slid a finger into her hair, untucking a few tendrils from her braid and pulling them loose. He nodded, satisfied, at the carefully disheveled look he created.

"Uh-huh," he said bluntly, "and the Princess loves flaunting her boy toy."

Leia's smile faded slightly, and she lowered her hands. Her expression was contrite; he sounded malicious, but she was intelligent enough to know it wasn't directed at her – Han was so self-assured and cocky all the time, he exuded such narcissistic confidence, that it very rarely occurred to her that the constant stream of commentary that insinuated he wasn't good enough for her might get to him.

She didn't even think it was about masculinity, or resenting her power or position; he just didn't like being reminded that in a different world, he'd probably never have had a chance.

He kissed her forehead lightly and straightened, taking her arm and pulling her up gently. He gestured for her to sit in the Captain's chair while he leaned against the console, crossing his arms.

"So, what're you doing down here?" he asked.

"Looking for you," she answered obviously. Her lips pursed. "I was sure you'd be here – "

"I went up to the Senate for you," he said grudgingly. "I figured you'd be holed up in that office as long as possible since this morning," he paused dramatically, "the press even attacked _Luke_."

 _That_ spoke to how rabidly the media was eating up the Bail Organa drama. Luke was never accosted by the media – mostly because he was notoriously boring when confronted with cameras. Boring in that he just stammered a lot and invariably spouted some Jedi psalms.

"Ah," Leia snorted. "Yes, that was vaguely hilarious," she said flatly. "It took the edge off by at least a millimeter."

Han shrugged – she had a point. Luke had received about ten questions at once about his opinion on the whole deal and his only response was to look like a complete Bantha caught in a sandstorm and end up saying _: "Uh, well, you know, I expect it's hard to resist Han Solo?"_ – which of course was leading to some significant side speculation about Luke's preferences.

"Care to comment on how hard to resist I am, Your Highness?" Han asked, mimicking the seedy drawl of the reporters and holding out his fist in imitation of a microphone.

Leia grabbed his hand, bit down on his knuckles gently, and shoved the appendage back at him, shaking her head. She sat forward in the seat, demurely crossing her legs and resting her knees on them. Han looked at her warily for a moment, and then cleared his throat.

"I wasn't the only one who was lookin' for you at the Senate," he said finally.

Leia's expression tightened up apprehensively.

"Father?" she asked.

He nodded, his brow darkening.

"I ran into him when I left your office – funny, since I told him to back off you," he added, his voice deepening into a growl.

"Han," Leia sighed, closing her eyes.

"Easy, Leia, I didn't say anything to him," he said shortly. "And there were no cameras," he added sardonically.

"Yes," Leia murmured, opening her eyes. "But you can't tell him to stay away from me," she said heavily.

"Look, Sweetheart, I know I didn't make the best impression, but he showed up in the middle of the night, and starts barking at you about Vader – he's got no clue what that's like for you – and I don't like it when you're like that –"

She nodded sharply, cutting him off.

"I know, Han, you're the expert on Princess Leia's _episodes_ ," she snapped, effectively cutting him off. "It's exhausting for you."

Han fell silent, and after a moment, shifted uncomfortably.

"That's not what I meant," he said seriously.

Her shoulders pulled in some, and she looked down at her hands. She looked back up at him, and nodded gently.

"Last night wasn't good," she said grudgingly, her voice wavering only slightly. "Don't think I'm angry with you," she added softly.

He shrugged. He hadn't gotten the impression that she was. He slouched down a little more, sitting heavily on the edge of the console, looking thoughtfully ahead of him for a moment.

"I was gonna be real good," he said seriously. "Shake his hand, say 'sir,' all that stuff. I was going to put my Academy manners back on."

Leia tilted her head and smiled at him slightly, compressing her lips.

"Guess that's shot to hell," Han muttered – but he didn't regret it. He may have planned on being on his best behavior for Leia's father, for her sake, but that plan had never included showing weakness – he may not be titled, but he wasn't a nobody. He had, quite literally, earned his stripes – two different ranks of them.

He cleared his throat tensely.

"You should have told him before that conference, Leia," he said flatly.

She put her chin in her hand and looked away. As usual, when Han was right about something, she was irritated about it.

He looked down at his scuffed boots and raised his eyes to her pointedly.

"I meant what I said though," he said tersely. "After that little show, he needs to let you come to him."

Leia nodded.

"But you can't tell him to stay away from me," she repeated. "He'll take it the wrong way. He won't see it as protective. He'll see it as controlling," she sighed angrily, "and he's already – I try to remember that he's had to grasp a lot of change, but I'm still very young in his eyes, and he thinks I need…much more protecting than I do. And I can't fault him too much for that," she paused, "he loves me."

Han's expression was intent.

"I love you, too," he reminded her.

She stood up slowly, moving closer to him. She leaned on the console next to him, the wisps of hair he'd undone falling in her face delicately, and she looked at him softly. She nudged him with her elbow.

"I know, Nerfherder."

He grinned at her. He folded his arms, and then unfolded them, and put one around her, pulling her close. He'd been feeling tense since his silent, charged run in – literally collision – with Bail outside of her office, and he'd awoken this morning with an eerie sense of foreboding. He ran his hand over her lightly and buried his nose in her hair.

"You sleep okay last night?" he asked.

He'd never actually taken her into the bedroom, just let her sleep curled up with her head in his lap until she woke with the first rays of sun that crept through the window.

She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Aren't you sore?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered, poking her. "You'll just have to tend to my muscles later."

"Hmm," she hummed. "I'll think about it."

He grinned and tightened his arm. Leia leaned into him, dreading going back to work for the day, dreading the press, dreading the War Crimes Tribunals, dreading it all. She licked her lips and reached up to grasp his fingers, holding tightly.

"Han," she said tiredly. "He'll come around."

She said it more to convince herself than anything, but she couldn't shake the apprehension that he wouldn't, and in addition to that, she was scared, too, of what would happen when Luke's patience ran out, and he started pushing for answers about their past.

* * *

Bail Organa took careful note of the fact that his daughter was absent from this meeting of the Alderaanian Council. It meant little to him that General Dodonna noted she was presiding over a closed session of the War Crimes Tribunal; he was grimly positive that she had deliberately chosen not to attend today, knowing it was to the first time he was there in official capacity.

Before the press conference – that bloody press conference – he had not been integrated into the workings of the Council because it dealt with issues he was still educating himself on.

He was well aware that things had gone dramatically _wrong_ last night, and though he regretted it, and wished to speak with her more civilly, he had to admit that running into General Solo outside her senate offices had irritated him almost to the point of haughtiness. There was something altogether too bold about the man coming and going from her offices when she wasn't even present – it was audacious, though Bail wasn't foolish enough to think Leia hadn't allowed it.

Solo hadn't said a word to him, but the expression on his face had been dark, and if not disdainful, defiant – and the Viceroy had bitten his tongue, forcing himself to remember that previously, in rescuing him, Solo had been completely decorous and competent, and it was very likely that this paramour of his daughter's remembered last night and interpreted Bail as a threat to Leia's well-being in much the same way Bail viewed him.

Bail hadn't spoken to him, either, but he had refused to look away from the other man's glare. He was, after all, the founder of a galactic insurgency – not one to be intimidated by a Corellian with a criminal past.

Throughout the day, Bail's feelings on the subject had fluctuated – faced with Rouge's hysterics, he tended to calm down and consider her opinions slightly over the top, but faced with Winter's girlish, carefree acceptance, and apparent investment in how romantic she thought it to be, he was filled with resentment and apprehension – she was a _Princess_ , for the love of God, a paragon of dignity, not a blasted holovid star.

The media exacerbated his discomfort; the flurry of attention the affair got was appalling; not only were clips of his disbelief at the press conference running nonstop, the breaks between were filled with older stories, as if this media zoo was determined to fill him in – and all of it, all if it made it seem as if she'd forgotten everything he'd taught her about subtlety, discretion, and restraint.

Not to mention General Solo's involvement with the media generally consisted of him getting into tussles with cameramen or getting filmed frequenting the seedier parts of Coruscant –where, Bail thought with a snort, he looked much more at home than he did at Princess Leia's side.

He was _always_ lounging, _rarely_ dressed in formal wear or his military uniform. He'd growled an offhand remark about that trait in particular and Winter had promptly informed him that Leia said Han hated his uniform and only wore it if Leia herself requested it.

A factoid that, frankly, made Leia's father somewhat uncomfortable.

He grappled with the implications of her relationship. He grappled with everything that had changed, and he felt a deep sense of alienation concerning the world around him; he imagined his late wife teasing him, telling him he'd be protective of Leia regarding any potential suiters – but that wasn't so true. There were men he wouldn't have bat an eyelid at; the safe sort of men he'd assumed she'd end up with – reliable Princes from foreign houses, or one of the noble Alderaanian gentility.

He found a certain snobbery, an elitism, within himself that he'd never thought he was susceptible too – and he wondered if he was entitled to it, in light of how desperately necessary it now was to preserve everything about Alderaan and its customs, or if he was betraying the deeply imbedded commitment to freedom he cherished.

It was Threkin Horm who cleared his throat, placing a hand on his desk as he spoke up, cutting into the Viceroy's ruminations.

"The obvious top of the agenda is the scandal surrounding Princess Leia," he began, with an obsequious amount of solemnity.

Rieekan cleared his throat roughly.

"I'm not sure it's appropriate to call old news a scandal," he remarked mildly.

"A new scandal to the Viceroy, to be sure," Threkin said stiffly.

Seated at Bail's right, Rouge turned up her nose, her eyes narrowing – clearly of the same mind as Threkin. Winter, included because of her closeness to the Viceroy, leaned forward, her hands on the table.

"Might we start with introductions?" she asked. "Council Horm, I remember you; General Rieekan – you as well," she said pleasantly. "The other members of this council – well, Miss Beezer, we met en route to Coruscant, but the others we've only met in files or in brief passing."

"Of course," Horm said hastily.

He turned his head, paused a moment, and in the pause, General Dodonna stepped in.

"I'm not usually here at these meetings, Viceroy, but Mon Mothma asked me to be – she and I, ah, share somewhat of the same opinion on - the issue."

Hearing Leia referred to as an _issue_ was new for Bail; in the world he'd previously existed in, the only government officials who thought her a problem were men like Grand Moff Tarkin.

Dodonna cleared his throat at Bail's silence.

"She felt you'd – understandably – want to address it – Horm?"

"This Council was conceived by Princess Leia when the New Republic got on its feet," Threkin obliged. "She's the head, naturally, and she pulled from the ranks of Alderaanians within the Rebellion."

Unspoken was his justification for why the members of this council were so unimpressive in rank and pedigree – but the justification was unnecessary; Alderaan's so-called finest had died with the planet, and most of the high-ranking advisors who had come on Bail Organa's mission were not yet reconciled enough to participate in this sort of thing.

Aside from Rouge and Winter, Minister of Intelligence Bastan Sadir had joined them for the meeting, and Minister of Defense – which, in Alderaan's case, was genuinely a position of defense rather than a code for War Minister – Dahra Pyrren.

Rieekan seemed to be irritated by Horm's remarks, and cut in.

"Dansra Benteen, she was with the Yellow Squadron in most guerilla battles, and she flew with the Rogues as an alternate several times," he introduced in his gruff, military manner. "Kell Tainer – he was an evacuation and rescue pilot, saved a lot of lives when operatives were in tight spots," both Dansra and Kell nodded respectfully, both on edge to be suddenly so elevated that they were in the same room, at a round table, with the man who had been their Prince. It spoke to how destroyed their world was. "Tyr Taskeen, a logistical scientist, part of the intelligence apparatus," Rieekan went on, "you know, of course, Threkin Horm, myself, and my brother."

Stavnist Rieekan sat at his right hand, and nodded cordially.

Winter smiled carefully at all of her fellows, and Rouge gave them all a searching, regal look.

Bail afforded them each a thoughtful glance, considering how much each of them must have given to the cause, how much pain they must have suffered – and still, they had persevered. He felt a sense of pride in them, a deep appreciation for the resilience of these people, and he hoped – he fervently hoped – that they weren't let down by Leia's – by her cavalier affair.

"As things progress and get more settled, this Council will obviously welcome those of you who wish to be a part of it," Rieekan continued. "You got the general overview in the briefings, but I think one significant order of business that may be better addressed now is the idea of finding a permanent settlement for the Alderaanian Diaspora – you see, up until this point – "

"That's jumping in heavy, Carlist," Dodonna cut in, arching his brows.

Rieekan paused. He took a breath, and inclined his head. Dodonna cleared his throat.

"It's an issue that requires a lot of attention, and it's been on Princess Leia's agenda – however, so much is expected of her in other capacities, that she's been mulling over whether to make that a primary concern or whether she's going to run for a position in the overall government," Dodonna explained, "which, unsurprisingly, seems to be something Alderaanians favor as much as they need the benefits of our this council."

Bail nodded sagely, overwhelmed by the magnitude of Leia's position in this new government, but impressed, utterly impressed. He had so strived to instruct her on how to be a good leader, and she seemed to be well loved – that, or the systems were just starved for lighthearted fun, and they were reveling in the gossip.

A shadow crossed Bail's face, and Threkin pounced on it.

"Which is why her current personal entanglements are, understandably, a point of contention," he put in, steering the conversation back.

"That might be a fair place to start," Dodonna agreed dryly.

Rieekan's brow darkened slightly. He held up his hand.

"I disagree – with respect, Jan, but this Council oversees legal issues and humanitarian – "

"Governance and the royal family is included in that, Rieekan," Threkin snapped.

"Councilor Horm, Princess Leia is generally in charge of these meetings and this Council, and I rarely see you sit her down and give her a talking to," he interrupted dangerously.

"Gentlemen," Rouge said succinctly, clearing her throat pointedly.

Rieekan looked irritated, but quieted, and Horm inclined his head – while Bail held up his hands.

"My introductory press conference was derailed," he said, "there's no need to tiptoe around the issue – and if anyone here was considering downplaying what I heard or attributing it to rumor, well," he paused, "I've spoken briefly with the Princess on the subject and I'm well aware it's decidedly not water cooler gossip."

Winter's lips turned up slightly. She made sure to fix her eyes coolly on Council Horm, and brightly refused to look away, even when he uncomfortably averted his gaze.

"We had no intention of tip-toeing around the issue – "

"The past two weeks indicate the opposite of that statement," Bail interrupted flatly. "I'm curious as to how much of my isolation had to do with that as opposed to concern for acclimating me."

There was no response from those around him, and Bail sighed, rubbing his chin.

"I'm not keen on rehashing why it was not something I was at least somewhat prepared to address, mainly because I highly doubt any of you had to persuade my daughter to omit it," he went on dryly.

Rieekan smiled a little.

"What I meant was, we rather hoped you'd have the power to remind her who she is," Threkin said loftily.

"Yes, Viceroy," Rieekan agreed amiably, "we sent the military to rescue you so you could put Princess Leia in timeout."

Winter audibly laughed, and though Rouge gave him a slightly scandalized look, and Dodonna gave him a withering one, Rieekan did not show regret for his comments. Bail didn't seem particularly offended by them either. He sat quietly, his mouth in a tight, thoughtful line.

"You oversimplify the issue, General," Horm said icily.

"I'm simply questioning the validity of making the most significant _issue_ ," Rieekan said the word distastefully, "one of a political figure's personal life."

"It is a significant issue," Rouge remarked suddenly. "She isn't just a politician."

"Precisely," Horm said.

"What I am trying to say is that it has been increasingly frustrating to see certain members of this elite scrutinize an affair that wasn't considered a problem during the War and the Reconstruction Conflicts – "

Rieekan broke off abruptly, as he realized both Dodonna and Horm were looking at him in varying levels of surprise and consternation. Rieekan spared a glance for the Viceroy, and then looked back at them, raising an eyebrow.

"Er—what?"

"Carlist, are you suggesting you knew about this?" Dodonna asked sharply. "From its _inception_?"

Rieekan blinked, somewhat taken aback himself.

"Are you…suggesting you genuinely didn't know until that gala?" he retorted, incredulous.

"As if we would turn a blind eye to something like that!" Horm said, his voice rising.

Rieekan shook his head.

"What's the matter with you? Where did you think she was living when she didn't request quarters on the ships after Endor? I'm sorry, Jan, but your gift for denial is really outstanding – "

"You allowed Han Solo to seduce the Princess of Alderaan under your nose _with your blessing_?" Dodonna hissed, his face turning red.

Rieekan decidedly avoided looking at the Viceroy at this point, because it occurred to him that he wasn't one hundred percent sure how Bail felt about the whole thing, and he might very well be looking at some sort of – court martial, absurd as it sounded.

"I didn't – good God, Jan, I didn't set the man on her – despite his questionable connections in the beginning he was one of my best men, and – "

"She was under your protection!" Horm snapped, outraged.

"I sure as hell didn't think it was my place as an Alderaanian far below her in rank to intervene in who was or was not seducing her – "

Bail held up his hands seriously, staring warily at the three engaged in the argument.

"If we could _stop_ discussing Leia's," he paused balefully, "seduction."

All three men hastily quieted for a moment, and then murmured their agreement. Bail put his hand on his jaw again, thinking about it carefully – there was a lot of irritation, a lot of anger, but it was hard for him to write off Carlist Rieekan's opinions. He'd always respected Rieekan as a rebel leader and as a man, but –

"So," Winter began quietly, pointing around. "You two," she gestured to Dodonna and Threkin Horm, "feel it was the responsibility of the high command to preserve the dignity of House Organa and you," she pointed at Carlist, "trusted Leia to do so herself."

Rieekan was quick to nod; the other two hesitated, realizing there might be a trap.

"Viceroy," Dodonna said, ignoring Winter and focusing back on Bail. "Princess Leia made it clear to Mon Mothma she refused to go underground. She wanted to remain in the fighting ranks. I did my best to ensure that she was treated with respect to her station."

"And a girlish, youthful crush isn't something that should be allowed to bring down a whole branch of politics in this Republic," Horm added.

"Councilor Horm," Tyr Taskeen said quietly, waving his hand. "Dramatics. You're talking about the Hapan Prince? It was folly. The Hapans would never have truly committed to the Republic regardless, and you would have sold the darling of the Rebellion Victory to a system that kept her away from public life."

Horm's lips pulled back from his teeth.

"It's not just the Hapans, Taskeen," he growled. "There was an understanding that Princess Leia would be a vital player in forming alliances, and her title, and sympathetic position, is part of that – this – this carrying on with Han Solo – "

"It's conduct unbecoming of someone who has a lost people to be a leader to," Rouge agreed sharply.

"I want to interject here," Bail said, "and make it clear that I never – there would be no forcing Princess Leia into a marriage against her will. Even if Alderaan was still part of the equation. I didn't educate her and train her to be a glorified bride."

In fact, he was quite sure Padme Amidala would have risen from the grave and murdered him for even thinking to do such a thing.

"Bail – yes; that was always very clear," Rouge said, exasperated. "No one would have handed Leia off like a package – "

"Viceroy, surely you aren't pleased with her – choice?" Dodonna ventured warily.

Bail sat back, his jaw set tightly. He shook his head.

"I don't think this is ideal," he said, his tone clipped. He thought of his encounter with the man last night, everything he knew about the mile long criminal records, the years of questionable activity, and regardless of the heroism he wondered – what the hell was Leia thinking?

"If she becomes Chief of State, what are we to do? Have Han Solo representing the galaxy with her at state dinners?" Horm growled.

The absurdity of the image drew a grimace from Han's detractors, a shiver of discomfort from Rouge.

"My concern is not immediately political," Bail said quietly. "Alderaan is gone. The world is different. Things are very different. That much must be accepted – and I don't mean to imply that Princess Leia is naïve, but if there's any manipulation or coercion taking place," a hard edge crept into his voice, "she's powerful, she's rich," he paused, "she's been through enough that certain vulnerabilities may be exploitable."

"Solo's a smooth talker if he's anything," Dodonna remarked.

"It's not manipulative," Rieekan said flatly. He fielded curious looks filled with veiled animosity, and then turned his head towards the Viceroy, his expression resigned. "I'm sorry if you're disappointed in me for my handling of Princess Leia, Viceroy, but I'll attest on my honor that General Solo isn't controlling her," he paused. "He chased her around for years and she ignored him for most of it. If anyone has the power, it's her."

"Winning recommendation, Carlist," Horm said sarcastically. "He _harassed_ her into submission."

Rieekan did not bat an eye, and he didn't look at the man.

"For someone who never served in combat arms in the trenches alongside the man, Threkin, you sure have a hell of a lot of opinions on him."

There was dead silence in the room for a moment, and then Rouge cleared her throat, her voice a bit shaky, a bit prim, when she spoke next:

"She can't attach herself to a commoner," Rouge said. "It's not – the war is over."

"Exactly," Horm said, with a withering look. "Everything she stands for, everything she's a symbol of, and everything she needs to be for her people, are hampered by that – man – he tarnishes her reputation – "

"It doesn't seem like public opinion is against her, Sir," Winter interrupted suddenly, her expression pinched. "Obsessed with her romance, perhaps, but no one has turned on her."

"There are daily questions from the press concerning Solo's unsuitability, his criminal connections," Dodonna said levelly. "He hasn't reformed his mannerisms, he doesn't respect her position – "

"But who cares if he respects her position as long as he respects her?" Winter retorted calmly.

"The press has publicly asked her intimate personal details and it's absolutely due to the fact that they think her affair with Han Solo equalizes her!" barked Horm. "It diminishes her influence, it makes her seem too accessible, and she loses credibility, she loses a certain amount of authority and intangible power – it's an insult to Alderaanians – "

Bail cleared his throat.

"I want to know how Leia's Alderaanians feel about this," he said shortly.

"Viceroy – ah, Leia's - ?" began Dodonna.

"The survivors who have looked to her since Alderaan's destruction," Bail clarified. "Those who have seen the war and the aftermath through. I care less about the galaxy, politically, than I do about my suffering people, and what I need to know is if this is hurting them."

"You have my opinion," Horm began, turning red as he geared up again, but he was interrupted – Dansra Beezer leaned forward, finding the courage to speak to someone who'd always before seemed larger than life to her.

"Viceroy," she said, clearing her throat. "We all loved your family. We loved Princess Leia. We wholeheartedly accepted an adopted Princess. And in this world, right now, the majority of survivors have much more to worry about than what she is doing behind closed doors."

"This isn't behind closed doors," Rouge remarked. "Miss Beezer, there are rules for people of station – "

"Rouge, let the woman speak," Bail said shortly.

Dansra paused, and then went on.

"There is a small – _small_ – minority that blames Princess Leia, and they will blame you, Sir, because you involved Alderaan in the Rebellion in the first place – for Alderaan's fate. But they don't turn their ire on her because she's seeing _Han Solo_ , they do it because they've lost their home, and leaders are scapegoats as often as they're figureheads, and they're suffering deeply. I served in battles with General Solo before he was commissioned, and he never left anyone behind. I don't feel offended by him, and the Alderaanians I know personally don't - they think it's a bit shocking, perhaps, but not altogether reprehensible."

Bail considered her a moment.

"And Councilor Horm's assessment that this involvement is affecting her ability to lead, her position?" he asked.

Dansra hesitated briefly. She glanced at Kell Tainer, who was her closest friend in the room, and he cleared his throat.

"Princess Leia isn't – shirking her duties," he said. "Not in my view. She can't control the press, but – "

"But they do interfere," Horm said with finality. "It's madness. She should have the intelligence and the foresight to end it – it's foolish to think General Solo will remain legitimate when this little dalliance runs its course, and we can't have a leader who is followed around by allegations of criminal connections."

Bail frowned, his eyes bouncing around the room. The trouble was, as a seasoned politician – he did see both sides. His personal, negative reaction to Han Solo aside, he respected Carlist, he agreed with Winter, and to a less vitriolic extent, he understood that there was a certain responsibility of rulers that sometimes meant sacrificing personal happiness for the sake of being able to lead effectively.

"If I may," Dahra Pyrren broke in – she, along with Bastan Sadir, had been silent throughout the meeting. "It's not generally the policy of Alderaanian legislatures and cabinet members to interfere with the marital practices of the royal family," she said thoughtfully. "Unless there is a succession crises, those issues are left to the royal family's inner circle – although it is highly likely that Princess Leia would have made a political match to strengthen her position as an adopted heir."

Dahra paused.

"Alderaanian royals have married out of their class before. Queen Breha's great-grandfather married that artist."

"Marriage is a strong term; let's avoid it," Rouge said irritably. "And Breha's great-grandfather abdicated for that woman. She was Coruscanti. Dahra, I'm not sure why you brought up something that ultimately resulted in a succession crisis down the line."

Bail lifted his brow.

"Which my very happy marriage with Breha resolved," he noted pointedly.

"On that note, the continuation of the Organa or the Antilles bloodline seems to be a moot point," Bastan Sadir said flatly. "Princess Leia has no Organa blood, and there's no longer an Alderaanian throne."

His words were heavy, but Rouge's face was stricken as she turned to him.

"Bastan," she said, "Princess Leia means so much to the people. Upholding tradition, honoring her place – it means even more now. If we can carry on as long as possible, preserve what we had," she broke off, her voice shaking. "Alderaan's survivors need that comfort. At the very least, she should look within her own people – she may be adopted, but we never treated her as anything less than our blood."

"There is a certain available fix," Horm said, as Rouge's heartfelt words were settling. "There are old laws."

Dodonna glanced at the man, and looked wary of him. Bail's eyes were sharp as he watched, waited – and Horm lifted his chin.

"There were times in the history of Alderaan when it was illegal to enter into a relationship with a member of the royal family without prerequisites and a contract of consent – laws that exactly prevented this kind of thing. Han Solo could simply be arrested for carnal knowledge of a member of the royal family without official recognition of a courtship and benediction of the match."

There was a split second of absolute silence before the room erupted.

"You want to _arrest_ Han Solo?" Dodonna asked incredulously.

"Those laws are ancient!" Winter cried, her face turning pale. _"Ancient_ – gendered, demeaning, and sexist – from the days of the Old Religion, when Alderaan still had a standing army! You want to claim Leia has no capacity to consent, that only a royal _male_ can give her hand?"

"Are you crazy, Horm? Are you out of your goddamned mind?" Dansra was demanding, forgetting herself completely. "Everyone loves Solo, they'd go _ballistic."_

"Chewbacca would murder you," was Tyr Taskeen's sage input.

"I didn't – quite meant to imply – " Rouge exclaimed faintly. "That's not - I meant gently persuade her - "

But it was Rieekan who was on his feet in the instant, his expression murderous.

"You and I have never seen eye to eye, Horm, but so help me _Sith,_ you've crossed a line – the Princess of Alderaan is not an object, and under no circumstances will I let you do anything that traumatizes her or robs her of her happiness – what you're suggesting would charge Han Solo with _rape_ and I'll be damned – I'll be – she's your _sovereign_. She's got ten times as much guts as you've got, she's got twice the brains, and I won't stand to see her disrespected with this sort of – complete disregard for her agency!"

There was silence again when he finished bellowing, and only Winter moved – to let a smile light up her face.

After a moment, Rieekan swallowed hard, clenched his fist and his jaw, and sat down hard.

Princess Leia had never explicitly discussed what happened to her on the Death Star, but Rieekan had seen the records concerning what medical treatment she received, and aside from the damage left from the Interrogation droid, the rest of it aligned with the sort of punishment Tarkin had always ordered on female prisoners. Carlist couldn't imagine how devastating it would be for her to even hear Han's name in the same sentence as the word _rape,_ much less have him publicly accused of it on grossly outdated elitist technicalities.

"I apologize for my outburst, Viceroy," he said tightly – with no sincerity.

But Bail – Bail hardly heard the apology; he was still reeling from the absurdity of Horm's suggestion, how archaic and regressive it was – he'd been repulsed by the idea, but he'd been too bogged down in a thousand thoughts to react right away. He'd been analyzing; thinking like a politician, scrutinizing everyone and everything, and in the time he'd taken to do that, and to process what Horm had _actually_ suggested, it was Carlist Rieekan who had immediately come to Leia's defense; Carlist Rieekan who had sounded more like a concerned father than Bail Organa had.

The thought shamed him, and he looked at the General's profile solemnly, silently thanking him, feeling penitent – it wasn't that Rieekan's words totally erased all of Bail's fears or concerns, his wariness about Han Solo, but it reminded him that he had a duty to his daughter – to listen to her, to trust her – and it made him question if he had started things off impossibly badly.

In the silence, Bail finally cleared his throat heavily.

"No need for an apology, Carlist. I quite agree. Councilor Horm," he began quietly. "Would you have said any of what you've said here today in front of Princess Leia?"

Horm's mouth gaped open and shut a few times, and though he began to answer – he was ultimately silent, and his face turned a mortified sort of purple. No – Horm's outbursts were reserved for Han, or for others, he remembered himself in front of Leia and – and on top of that – frankly, he was terrified of her.

Bail nodded once, curtly.

"I think it best that we dispense with this discussion," he said crisply, indicating his head once towards the advisors he'd had on his ship with him. "Bastan and Dahra have the right idea; the State should stay out of it."

Horm's mouth formed a thin line, but to the left of him, the ghost of a satisfied smile touched Rieekan's mouth, and Bail looked away from the man, troubled again by this new world, and how poorly he seemed to fit into it.

* * *

 _round of applause for old Carl, don't you think he deserves it?  
* i think in canon Leia had definitely met Malla and Lumpy before (Christmas Special, maybe...haha) but I chose to delete that from this. using the AU Force. _

_-alexandra_


	16. Fifteen

_a/n: trigger warning applies again. also, another one of those ~dramatic chapters._

* * *

 _ **Fifteen**_

* * *

Despite the fact that he notoriously hated it, Han Solo did not bother to change out of his uniform after he was finished with his military business. He went straight from two meetings to a three hour round of drills with the newer men under his command, and then he hid from the public by cramming himself into a tight space on the _Falcon_ and experimenting with something he probably shouldn't be messing with.

He'd always found that the best way to clear his head was to risk electrocution by rigging something on _Falcon,_ and his head was a real mess. The press had been nowhere near his military drills, but they'd been all over him after his meeting with the other generals – and on top of that, any time he looked at the holos, he either saw Leia being accosted, or Bail – and that wasn't particularly fun to see, either.

She hadn't sought her father out yet, and the Media seemed to be just itching to somehow provoke a showdown.

It was to both their credits that neither Han, nor Bail, had responded to the increasingly ludicrous attempts to instigate some sort of brawl. Han took out his frustration on the _Falcon,_ and unfortunately, sometimes on Chewie – but he couldn't help it. He wanted to knock skulls and give the bunch of vultures a piece of his mind, but he knew better than to run his mouth and put Leia in an awkward position – yet despite how difficult it was for her, he was growing irritated with her, as well. She'd realized it was a mistake not to tell Bail sooner, but she still displayed the same hesitance over talking to him. He tried to hold off his annoyance, but it gnawed at him – he didn't like being in the middle, he didn't like being the thorn in everyone's side, and the only thing keeping him from hightailing out of here to somewhere he could fight and drink and get the pent-up attitude out of his system was – well, her, of course.

He always knew he was in love when sitting in irritated silence with someone – as he had at breakfast this morning – was better to him than not having that someone at all.

 _[Lando called]._ Chewbacca growled from somewhere above him.

"What'd he want?" Han muttered, speaking around a nail he had clenched between his teeth.

 _[He was answering your call]._ Chewbacca answered, unhelpfully.

"I didn't call Lando!"

After a moment, Chewbacca said:

 _[He said something about Alderaanian jewelers.]_

Han paused. He spit the nail into his hand and twisted around, slowly inching out of the crawlspace. He rubbed at his temple and ran a hand through his hair, tilting his neck back and forth to work out the stiffness. Chewbacca eyed him suspiciously as he sat up.

 _[Why are you calling Lando about Alderaanian jewelers]?_ He asked.

"Why'd you think?" Han snapped.

In all the chaos, he'd forgotten he made the call at all – and not just to Lando, either; there were several trusted contacts he'd reached out to, putting out feelers to see if he could find anyone who could make the kind of necklace clasp Dansra Beezer had told him about. He rubbed his head again.

"Did he leave a message or is he on the line?" he asked.

 _[Message]._

Han started to get back down on his back and inch into the crawl space.

 _[Aren't you going to call him back?]_

"I'll see about it later," Han grumbled, voice echoing. He reached for the nail again.

To his surprise, a paw wrapped around his foot and yanked him from the crawlspace.

"ARGH-!" he yelped.

Swearing, he sat up and lurched away from Chewbacca, shooting him a menacing look as he reached down to grab his ankle.

"Son of a – "

 _[You can't change your mind about her now!]_ Chewie howled.

Han gave him a disbelieving look.

"Who the hell is changing their mind?" he retorted.

Chewie gave him a mutinous look.

 _[Why don't you want to talk to Lando immediately?]_ He countered.

Han sat back and ran his hand through his hair, frowning tensely.

"'Cause now's not a good time, pal," he griped. "I've got seven disconnected wires down here."

 _[Your_ head _is full of disconnected wires]_ rumbled Chewie.

Han glowered at him.

"Look, Chewie, the jeweler doesn't matter right now, not while things are all up in the air with her old man," he said gratingly. He laid back down and inched backwards. "Doesn't matter anyway, 'cause I already asked 'er, remember?"

 _[So I've been told, you bumbling gundark.]_

"What?!"

 _[Who asks a female to Bond with them without a token]?_

"For Sith's sake," snarled Han, disappearing back into his hole.

 _[It's not official without a token – whatever token your species uses – and you're ignoring Lando when he's got one - ]_

Han pushed himself out of the space again and got to his feet, shaking his head.

"Why're you being such a girl? Don't get your fur in knots about it," he snapped. "Lando's just got his eyes peeled in case he sees something I might need – I'm still going home to bug Leia at the end of the day, jewelry or not."

Chewbacca bared his teeth.

 _[You're angry with her]._ He pointed out.

"Tensions are running high," Han corrected under his breath.

 _[If she's having trouble with her Father, why don't_ you _go to him?]_

"And say what, huh? 'Sorry for fucking your daughter, want to discuss it over kaffe?'"

 _[I'd leave out the fucking part]._

Han shook his head, turning onto his stomach. He wormed back into the space, effectively hiding from Chewbacca – he knew the Wookiee was unlikely to manhandle him again. He bristled at Chewbacca accusing him of giving up – hell, it had only been a few days, and he knew Leia was struggling. He was giving her space because he didn't want to pick a fight with her as a proxy outlet for his own irritation. Chewbacca just happened to interpret it the wrong way.

He heard the Wookiee amble away, and he finished up with his wires, deciding to abandon his project. He closed up what he was doing, tucked the hydrospanners into his belt, and wandered into the cockpit. He picked up his comlink and played the message he'd missed.

" _Hey, Han – sorry I missed you; guess you're out destroying the New Republic with your bare hands – or whatever they seem to think you shacking up with Leia is doing – that thing you asked me to look out for? Haven't quite found it; Alderaanian jewelers didn't leave the planet very often, I guess...might have somethin' close – can't divert attention away from the campaign – look, give me a call back, and I'll elaborate more – or does it matter now, are you allowed to marry her anymore? – kidding, buddy…"_

The message trailed off, and Han slammed the comlink down onto the control panel, his jaw tightening. It wasn't the kind of joke he wanted to hear right now; it hit much too close to home – and he hadn't even mentioned marriage to Lando, anyway, though he supposed asking the man to look for someone who could make a specific kind of Alderaanian necklace hadn't been too subtle.

Chewbacca, for one, made his way down the ramp to give Han some time to himself on the ship – he was getting wound tighter and tighter by the day, and it was troublesome. It had everything to do with the very public manner in which the Media was describing Bail Organa's opinion of the whole thing; the rub was that he didn't know if it was true or not, since Leia hadn't confronted him yet.

The fight she'd had with him, culminating in Han kicking him out, was hanging over their heads, and Chewbacca was waiting to see what would happen when the pressure cracked them all – he was waiting, but he dreaded seeing it.

Examining a dent that had appeared on one of the columns of the landing ramp, he continued to mull the events over until he heard the polite, firm clearing of a throat behind him. He turned, and then straightened up, his eyes widening curiously in surprise.

Bail Organa was standing there – just Bail, utterly alone, no one near him. That in itself was strange, because he'd been assigned security, and of course it was odd that he'd found his way to the _Falcon's_ private hangar.

"Hello," Viceroy Organa greeted pleasantly. "Is General Solo around?"

He spoke clearly, and with full confidence that he'd be understood.

Chewbacca blinked at him owlishly for a moment, and then turned his head.

 _[Han, your new Dad is here]._ He howled, snickering to himself. _[That's what you get for speaking of the devil.]_ He added.

Chewbacca turned to look at Leia's father, and after a moment, Han appeared on the ramp, scowling.

"What the hell are you talkin' – " he broke off abruptly, noticing Bail standing there. His expression became unreadably for a moment, and then he shot Chewbacca a look. "Very funny," he said sarcastically, clued in on the joke.

He came down the rest of the ramp, stopping at the end, leaning against one of the columns. He was well aware that, despite being in his uniform, he looked unkempt. He didn't particularly care; in fact, he hoped the wrinkled clothing and engine grease reinforced the gist of who he was as Han Solo: uncouth, battle born, and common, and Leia's choice despite that.

"Viceroy," he said.

 _[Shouldn't have spoken first. Now you're the weak one.]_ Chewbacca said wryly.

Han's jaw twitched, and he shot his co-pilot a look. Chewbacca occasionally had entirely too much fun with the fact that his language was unintelligible to most. With a look back to the Viceroy, Han noticed that Bail was very carefully not looking at Chewbacca; instead, his expression was confident and serene, but equally as guarded as Han's.

 _[Are you going to invite him in?]_ Chewbacca rumbled lazily. Han watched Bail's face intently, and Chewbacca continued: _[Because I can go make sure none of Leia's private things are around, if you are. Wouldn't want a repeat of that time Luke found lacy stockings in the gun turret.]_

The Viceroy's lips twitched just slightly, and Han smiled grimly; he suspected as much. People who didn't speak Shriywook generally looked at Chewbacca in some degree of slack jawed confusion until Han translated; they didn't stand calmly while the Wookiee rambled on.

"He can understand you," Han said flatly.

Chewbacca's ribbing had been to make his friend uncomfortable – the sort of nettling males typically engaged in with each other – but at Han's words, Chewie's face took on a mollified sort of dismay, and he clamped his jaw shut, eyes widening.

Bail decided that was the best time to speak up.

"My Shriywook is rusty," he said neutrally. He stepped forward, and extended his hand. "Chewbacca, I'm honored to meet you in person," he said, rather warmly. "I'm aware you contributed significantly to the Alliance, and I'm sure your people are proud. Furthermore, your father's part in helping rescue Jedi Master Yoda during the Clone Wars most likely contributed to the deliverance of this galaxy from the clutches of tyranny."

Chewbacca, still cowed, took the hand and shook it, expressing surprise in a soft rumble. Han's tight expression relaxed a bit as well. Grudgingly, he had to admit he was impressed: Bail had wasted no time in treating Chewie as an absolute equal, and often, even those who were the least picky about human versus non-human distinctions, brushed Chewie off.

 _[Pleasure to serve.]_ Chewbacca answered. He let go of the Viceroy's hand, and turned to Han _. [I like him. Play Nice.]_

Han scowled at him – Chewbacca hadn't been there the other night; he didn't understand. Chewbacca hadn't been there yesterday when Leia's lack of sleep and lack of appetite had finally succeeded in making her sick.

Bail extended his hand towards the ship.

"Please, feel free to go tidy up anything that might offend me," he said, deadpan. He said it with the same sort of subtle, sarcastic cadence that often crept into Leia's tone when she wielded words as weapons, and Han immediately recognized it.

Chewbacca arched his eyebrows, gave Han a warning look, and then skulked away. Despite being slightly impressed that Bail hadn't had some sort of heart attack over Chewie's insinuation, Han had no intention of asking him onto the ship for a drink. He doubted Bail was here because Leia had talked to him; Leia was at War Crimes tribunals all morning. Which meant he was here without her knowledge, so Han was immediately on the defensive.

He also decided there was merit to what Chewbacca had said, and he pointedly refrained from saying anything else until the Viceroy saw fit to speak.

"I hope it isn't an imposition that Carlist told me where your ship is docked," Bail said mildly. "He was reluctant, but I assured him I had no dastardly motives in coming here."

Han was silent for a long, careful moment, both his posture and his expression far from inviting. He eyed the other man narrowly, and figured he'd decide later of he was going to chew Rieekan out.

The Viceroy's eyes flicked up, lingering on the _Falcon_.

"So this is the ship that did so much for the Rebellion," he remarked, recalling the files he'd read – read, memorized, and read all over again. "It certainly looks as impressive as the stories make it sound."

At that, Han arched one of his eyebrows – Bail said it with such a thoughtful expression and with no trace of malice or derision, and it was almost disarming, because he couldn't tell if Leia's father was mocking him, buttering him up, or just – rambling incoherently. The bottom line was, no one looked at the _Falcon_ and claimed it was some grand vessel; Han was willing to bet Rieekan had told Bail it would be a good idea to flatter the ship.

In spite of himself, the words loosened his tongue – loosened it, but didn't soften it.

"What're your 'motives in coming here'?" Han asked, quoting the Viceroy's words with a slight edge to his voice – he was well aware his speech was nowhere near as refined as Bail's, and he didn't care. He didn't care that his military uniform was wrinkled, he didn't care that his hands and hair had engine grease on them, and he didn't really care that if Bail looked closely, he might see scratches on Han's neck that were left by Leia's nails.

In fact, he was a little smug about that last bit.

Bail folded his hands in front of him, his arms disappearing into the long, ceremonial sleeves of his cloak. It was the same cloak he'd been wearing when Han pulled him from the wreckage; it had been washed, of course, but the Viceroy didn't seem to be able to bear accepting a new one.

"I suppose I'll begin by assuring you that I will not be attempting to pay you off," Bail replied, his lips twitching at the corners – perhaps grimly, perhaps in anxious amusement; Han wasn't sure, but his brow furrowed warily.

"Pay me off," he started, and then tilted his head. "You mean, pay me off Leia?" Before Bail could get a word out, Han shook his head. "You couldn't afford it, Viceroy," he snapped sarcastically.

"I am a very rich man, General Solo," Bail said neutrally. "How much would it take?"

Han sensed immediately that Bail wasn't serious; he could tell by the man's posture and his somewhat relaxed jaw that he was not in a combative mood, whatever an Alderaanian's combative mood would be. Still, he grit his teeth.

"Thought you weren't here to bribe me."

"I have no intention of it, but I am very interested in how much you think my daughter's worth," Bail answered sharply.

The last thing Han was going to do was paint Bail a flowery, loquacious picture depicting his feelings for Leia, so he settled for a tight, irritated expression. Several retorts ran through his mind, but he didn't want to sound careless, and have anything he'd said be reported back to Leia as if he'd meant it seriously, and he didn't want to give Bail a window into their lives, either.

Instead, he jerked his head in the general direction of the outside world.

"Ask the High Council what they paid for her rescue," he suggested callously. "Ask _them_ what your daughter's worth. Couple thousand credits, a political alliance." His contempt was palpable in his tone. "They're the ones who'd buy and sell her," he said stiffly. "If you thought for a second her worth to me translates to monetary value, you got another thing coming."

Bail blinked, shifting his weight, shaking his head a little.

"General Solo – Goddess _above_ , I've just told you twice I had no intention of offering you money to disappear," Bail looked two parts wary and two parts mildly amused, "are you deaf or as bull-headed as they say?"

Han wasn't entirely sure how to answer that. It sounded like copping to an insult either way. While mulling it over, he also took a moment to note how completely strange it was to find himself loudly insisting he didn't want any money, when there'd been a time in his life when money was all that mattered.

"My sister, however," Bail continued mildly, "may very well show up with fistfuls of jewels. She has worked herself into several fits over you," he said matter-of-factly.

"Well, that's my specialty," Han said, deadpan. "Sending aristocrats into fits."

Bail's lips turned up somewhat indulgently, but he still hadn't really smiled, and Han hadn't really relaxed. After eyeing him for a moment more, he grudgingly accepted that Bail truly didn't seem to be on the warpath – however, he was cautious around trained diplomats. Early experiences with Leia had taught him they could outsmart him so blisteringly well he didn't realize he lost the argument until two days later.

"Why're you here, Viceroy?" he asked bluntly – no point in beating around the bush or being obsequiously polite, was there? After all, he'd already kicked the man out of his apartment.

"I wanted to speak with you in a more civilized setting," Bail answered. He unfolded his arms and gestured around. "As you can see, I've ditched my security detail."

Han could see that, indeed. He was slightly amused about it, though he didn't show it. When he didn't say anything, Leia's father continued.

"I felt we got off on the wrong foot."

Han snorted under his breath. He crossed one of his ankles over the other, leaning against one of the support columns still. He cleared his throat quietly after a moment and shrugged, inclining his head.

"I'm listenin'," he said.

With that, he made it clear he still wasn't keen on inviting Bail in – and it didn't have anything to do with any lacy things that may or may not be on the floor in his cabin. He didn't want to cede ground to the other man, he was still ticked off at him, and he'd also transferred any of his latent irritation at Leia towards Bail. On top of that, he wasn't sure he liked Bail being here if Leia didn't know about it, and since he barely knew him at all, he had no clue what he might be about to say.

Bail seemed disarmed by the lack of reverence, and he frowned, folding his arms again. He had expected – well, he supposed he'd expected at least a little more…groveling. If he'd had a few days to think about what a poor decision it had been to accost Leia in the middle of the night, Han Solo should have thought over his absurd insistence that Bail stay away from his daughter.

"General," Bail started seriously, meeting Han's eyes easily. "If I remember correctly, you have some experience being out of commission for a long stretch of time – unaware of your larger surroundings, with no idea of what was happening in the world while you were out."

A chill ran up Han's spine as he thought of his time in carbonite, but he said nothing, looking at Bail intently.

"If you can take a moment to magnify that by several more years, and add to it the destruction of everything you've ever known, perhaps you can understand why I am wary of everything I'm finding out," he said shortly, "particularly since Leia did not see fit to tell me about it."

Han looked at him silently, his jaw tight – he did remember what it was like, grappling to keep up with his surroundings, taking everything in but not really being able to process what was going on, having odd things click at random times, being filled in on things constantly for months on end. It wasn't just disorientation in the larger sense, either, it was missing inside jokes, not understanding why Lando was in the rebellion when he'd been a traitor – little things and big things. However, despite the haunting disorientation of his recovery from carbonite, and how prone to irritation he'd been, he remembered putting his trust firmly in Leia. She'd been the only thing that kept him sane while he clawed his way back to who he was. He did figure, though, that Bail was currently incapable of doing that because he was too conditioned to being her father, and being the one _she_ trusted in.

Han loosened his arms a little.

"She didn't want you to find out like that," he said tersely. "She wasn't hiding anything from you," he added, giving the Viceroy a look. "I was in her apartment the first time you came over. You made assumptions."

"She made no corrections."

"Well, Viceroy, I think your immediate assumption that I was there for a meeting made her wary," Han retorted sarcastically.

Bail compressed his lips – a fair assessment; probably true. He clenched his teeth together and lowered his chin for a moment.

"Threkin Horm has been removed from the council for his actions," Bail said.

Han's nostrils flared, and he felt a grim sense of satisfaction – Leia wouldn't have stood for Threkin Horm's continued presence after he'd deliberately had her attacked via the Media, but Han hadn't been sure how far it would go. Part of him had wondered if Bail would be on Horm's side, but it didn't seem to be so.

"I don't care what Councilor Horm's opinions or concerns were, and I don't necessarily share them," Bail went on, "but you'll find my primary concern is the health and safety of my family. Threkin's idea of loyalty is not mine," he said darkly.

Han said nothing. He was listening, and he was watching. Bail had a knack for keeping his expression unreadable, his feelings under control, and Han wasn't sure if he was approaching some sort of crux of the conversation or if he was just feeling Han out.

"Carlist assures me you're not after my daughter's money or her power," Bail said intently. "Winter has already decided she likes you. The pilot, Dansra – she vouches for you as well," he listed.

Before he could go on, Han interrupted.

"You want to hear some sort of speech?" he asked curtly. "You want me to list my good qualities or start begging for a chance?" Han shook his head. He smirked a little. "I get that I'm a shock. I get that you imagined her with some – Duke, or some Prince, but it's her you should be talkin' to if you want to change someone's mind. Mine's made up. So's hers, but you can try. Hell, I'd like to watch you try."

Bail Organa looked at him quietly for a long time.

"Actually," he said, very simply, "you don't surprise me at all."

Han slid his hands into his pockets. He raised an eyebrow skeptically – somehow, he didn't think the Viceroy of Alderaan had sat at his desk in the evening imagining his only child gallivanting around the stars with an Academy reject and career criminal.

"My daughter was always very politically astute and, after gaining some unfortunate life experience, incredibly reticent about personal entanglements, but she was hardly interested in the pampered sons of the Elder Houses."

Han narrowed his eyes.

"You don't surprise me," Bail repeated. "You do, however, concern me."

It didn't matter that the Bail Organa of the past might have warily expected Leia to come prancing back to Aldera one day with a rock star or some sort of racing pilot, he would have looked on it with suspicion and concern then, and he looked on it with suspicion and concern now.

Han gave him a look that clearly implied the Viceroy concerned him just as much. He grit his teeth together for a moment, slowly deciding on what to say – but he really was reluctantly to be having this sort of conversation when Leia hadn't talked to him yet. Bail continued, though.

"She's been taking advantage of before."

"She's not an idiot," Han said sharply.

"I did not say she was," Bail answered, just as sharply.

"She isn't a little girl anymore, Viceroy," Han snapped, his jaw tense.

"Let me tell you where I'm coming from," Bail said, raising his voice. "I have no idea who you are. Your unsavory history is longer than your legitimate history. You've worked for _slavers,_ and you at one point sought a shining career in the _Imperial_ military. You're background is uncouth and fraught with all sorts of questionable activity, and yet you're the man _living_ with my daughter – who, I'm discovering, has experienced some serious, irreversible trauma throughout this war."

Bail's expression was hard, yet somehow still calm, still collected – must be that generations-deep pacifism Dansra said was ingrained in all Alderaanians.

"When she was fifteen years old, I hired a friend who owed me a debt to train her in combat and weaponry. When she was sixteen, on the verge of running for Senate, and starting her political career, she came to me and confessed she'd fancied herself in love with the trainer and had let him take some suggestive pictures of her. He was threatening her with them – this older man, who she'd trusted with her youth, and her heart, and every sense of Alderaanian optimism that I suddenly wished I hadn't instilled in her. I prevented her from ever having to deal with the repercussions of that – there was no scandal, she had nothing hanging over her head, and nothing was compromised. But _that_ , General, is what I think of when I see photographs of her plastered all over the holos. _That_ is what I think of when she hides you from me, and you tell me to stay away from my daughter."

Bail paused for a split second, and then said, again:

"I have no idea who the hell you are."

Because that was really the heart of the matter, for him. It didn't matter what he read in the generic files; it didn't matter what he saw in the holos or what the council or anyone reported. He didn't know this man, and Leia hadn't said a word about him, and somehow seeing that he was so removed from his daughter's life, and her confidence, was more daunting than finding out the Empire was gone.

Han took in the speech, his eyes narrow – he had about a hundred questions after that last bit, but it was hard not to see red when he felt he was being accused of being a manipulative snake on the verge of betraying Leia for personal glory. In the back of his mind, he figured Bail wasn't actually accusing him of that, but it soured his expression anyway, and he clenched his fist in his pocket, pushing it against his thigh.

"You're right," he said finally, his voice tight. "You _don't_ know who I am."

Bail held Han's gaze thoughtfully. He bowed his head after a moment, and then he lifted it, his brow furrowing slightly – not in confusion, but in a small amount of understanding. Han's face was defiant, but it was clear he felt the same way.

They were both looking at each other, and thinking one word: _threat_. But Han had been there for the past few years, and he presumably knew the person Leia had become – who she'd been in the war, what she'd been through. Bail was having trouble reconciling all of this with the young woman who he'd been so worried for over the years, who he'd always been there for, who he'd been guiding, and raising, and being a parent to.

He sighed heavily.

"You know," he remarked dryly, "her mother liked hotshot pilots, too."

 _And_ that _had turned out so well for the galaxy, hadn't it?_

Though the comment was meant to be light, it went over as well as his mention of Vader had the other night, and Han's eyes flashed. He stepped forward, shoulders back, his expression dangerous.

"Don't talk to me about her past until you've talked to her," he snapped. "You can't say things like that. It would have been bad enough for her, all that shit about Vader, if she'd found out before – " he broke off abruptly. "You've got a nerve, sayin' something like that. You've got a lot to explain to her."

For what it was worth, Bail didn't look offended; he looked cowed. If anything, he was shocked that Solo hadn't assumed he was talking about Breha, which indicated Leia had confided in him about Vader's connection to her. Then again - well, of course anyone would know Bail wasn't talking about Breha; _Bail_ had never been a particularly prolific pilot. Appalled for a moment at his own slip-up, Bail froze, stuck in one of those moments when he realized how overwhelmed he was. He compressed his lips, and looked to the side a moment, before turning his head back. He remembered the cool anger in Leia's eyes when she'd goaded him about Anakin Skywalker; he remembered the look on her face, the tone of her voice. It wasn't just anger that she'd been kept in the dark – it was something else, something more sinister.

Bail nodded his head slowly.

"I wasn't given a second chance in this world for the mere opportunity to destroy my daughter's happiness," he said heavily. "I am not here to take her away from you, or anyone else, without her consent. My initial reaction to this was – influenced by the shock of everything else that is going on," he paused, and looked at Han stoically. "I am asking you to understand that this is a lot to take in. I am asking you to have patience while I process it."

Taken aback somewhat, Han leaned back against the column, frowning. It seemed like a peace offering – it seemed finally clear that Bail had come down here to, in a struggling, stumbling way, convey that he hadn't stormed back to his quarters and started a plan to set Leia straight back on the classic Princess path, he was just trying to adjust.

Intuitively, suddenly, Han realized that had more to do with Bail's relationship with his daughter than it did with his daughter's smuggler – although he didn't kid himself into thinking Bail was in anyway carefree about Han. He probably landed somewhere on the spectrum between Mon Mothma and Dodonna, at the moment.

"I can see that Leia is very different," Bail said quietly.

"There's nothing wrong with her, Viceroy," Han began.

"There never was anything wrong with her," Bail agreed calmly, "there never will be – no matter what happened during the war, how dirty her hands got, her bloodline, or what happens to her in the future."

Han fell silent, satisfied with that response.

"What I mean is," Bail said carefully, "I hardly know her anymore, but I want to. I do not think that can be done if we are at odds. Thus, while I waited for her to come to me – as you said," he inclined his head, "I thought it prudent to let you know that I have no vendetta against you. I haven't made up my mind about you. And I intend to try to listen to her."

Han juggled a volley of emotions for a moment – he felt sheepish, irritated, wary, relieved – all sorts of things, and then, for a fleeting moment, he felt suspicious that Chewbacca was listening to all of that from the shadows. The most important thing he took away from it was that Leia wouldn't have to worry that her father was going to immediately dig his nails into her relationship and try to uproot the seeds of happiness.

That was all he needed, right now. He could live with Bail having a slightly upturned nose about him – Force, he took that from all sides all day, and it never mattered as long as Leia was by his side – and he could grudgingly cage his more aggressively protective nature while he let Bail try to navigate this new world and what it meant for his relationship with his daughter.

"Again, I can't speak for my sister," Bail finished.

Han actually smiled – not his trademark, genuinely amused lopsided smile, but it was a smile, and it probably did wonders for the tension.

Bail inclined his head again, acknowledging the smile with relief, and then he cleared his throat, shifting his weight somewhat uncomfortably. He folded his hands again, and looked at Han guardedly.

"There is one more thing," he said heavily. "She raised her hand to me, the other night. She intended to slap me, I think," he remembered.

He'd felt like he was thrown in a river of ice when it happened, watching her face change, cheeks pale, skin seemed to tighten over her jaw as she raised her hand and then held it frozen, poised to strike – Leia had never been particularly physically violent when angry, and yet -

"It seems I said something…that set that off," he ventured.

Han swallowed. He was acutely aware of where Bail was going, but still, he waited to see. He wasn't wrong.

"Is there anything you can tell me about what happened…that wasn't in the files," he paused heavily, "that I need to know to avoid upsetting her in that way again."

Han's shoulders tensed, and he considered Leia's father for a long time – the short answer was no; he had no intention of telling Bail things she'd only told him. Especially not when he knew how shaken she'd been to think he might find out. But – Bail did need to know what triggers not to pull, especially if Luke was going to force a conversation about Vader.

Han looked down at his feet, and then looked up, shaking his head.

"That's why you got to let her come to you," he said. He hesitated, and then added, somewhat vaguely, but at least a little helpfully: "You can't bring up Vader casually." He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, his expression dark. "No Tarkin, no Death Star. Follow her lead."

Bail nodded.

"The files are very sparse, on what happened," he said quietly.

Han's voice grew edgy, took on a warning note:

"The details don't matter," he said sharply. "It can't be undone." He looked at Bail hard for a split moment of silence. "They hurt her. End of story."

Bail, instead of looking affronted at being rebuffed concerning the welfare and details of his own daughter, looked content – even satisfied. A light flickered on in the back of Han's mind, and he narrowed his eyes intently, but said nothing.

"You might consider keeping this conversation between us," Bail remarked.

"Not a chance, Viceroy," Han retorted. He snorted – besides, when Leia heard about this, she'd be quicker to face her father.

"Bail," the Viceroy said simply. He shrugged. "I think you should call me Bail."

Han considered it, and nodded stiffly.

There was still something about the way they faced each other that implied they were wary of the other, that they didn't quite know if they liked each other, or would ever like each other, but Han knew that deep down, anything Bail did came from a place of genuine care and concern for Leia, and he was sure he'd just proved his own attitude was influenced by the same thing.

"Now, I ought to go find my security before someone loses a head over misplacing me," Bail said mildly.

Han snorted.

"Got a lot of practice slipping your detail?" he asked.

"Well, Leia certainly didn't learn it from my sisters," was Bail's wry response.

Han nodded at him, resting his hand over his belt as he watched Leia's father turn and depart. He had a very regal way of walking, even if he had just sort of put himself on the same level as a smuggler and essentially asked for help dealing with his daughter.

It was a few moments before Chewbacca appeared.

 _[What was_ that _all about?]_ He asked, wildly curious.

Han folded his arms, and turned to the Wookiee, arching a brow.

"He was testing me," he said bluntly, having figured it out about halfway through.

Chewbacca gave him a quizzical look. Han smirked dryly – he wondered if Bail realized he'd cottoned on to what was going on. Han realized Bail was pushing for information on Leia's experiences, or requesting he keep Leia in the dark, to test Han's commitment; if he'd caved to try and wheedle Bail's approval, he wouldn't have looked good. Bail clearly wasn't a man who valued flattery; he valued unquestionable loyalty, and that was exactly what Han had shown towards Leia.

He, of course, would have said everything he had even if he hadn't realized what was doing on.

 _[Did you pass?]_

Han shrugged. He pushed his tongue against the inside of his teeth, his jaw set for a moment, and then he nodded once, curtly.

"Yeah," he said – and he was pretty confident he had.

He was left thinking about what Bail had said, concerning adjustment, and when he retreated back into the Falcon, there were a bunch of new things he needed organize in his head, which meant he had a long afternoon tangled in questionable electrical wires ahead of him – or so he thought, until he heard on a quick lunch break that something had happened at the War Crimes tribunals that caused Princess Leia to leave them early.

* * *

The War Crimes Tribunals were closed proceedings. That didn't mean the Media had no access, it simply meant they were not allowed within chambers, and they had to wait for official press releases – or they had to wait for anyone who was privy to the proceedings, and not under a gag order, to divulge some tidbit to them. The only officials who were subject to gag orders were solicitors, jurors, judges, and witnesses – and theirs lasted only until the final verdict. Observers – family members, perhaps, or high ranking officials from the planets of the defendants – were allowed to remark on anything that happened, and so it wasn't long after Princess Leia excused herself from chambers that several Media outlets had gotten ahold of the juicy bit of gossip that detailed how Grand Moff Luscheck had spent the entirety of his time on the stand harassing her.

She hadn't left; she hadn't given him the satisfaction of chasing her away – it was after he was cuffed and led from the courtroom that she chose to retreat, only to run into him being escorted to the prison transport – so his last jab had been loud and clear, public, for everyone to hear –

" _Your hands are just as bloody as mine, you self-righteous little bitch. You weren't so high and mighty when Tarkin had you on your knees."_

She thought it somewhat unoriginal of him to have followed his comments with an attempt to spit on her, but she hadn't flinched away when he'd lunged – even though it took every ounce of psychological strength for her not to turn away, screaming, with her hands over her ears. She just watched, silently, as they slammed him to the ground to shut him up, dragging him onto the transport.

She didn't return to the fledgling Supreme Courts, though she was slated to assist in presiding over mediations all day – and even now, sitting at her desk in the Senate building, the news from her two holovisions droning in her ears, her hands shook as she reflected on the encounter, and though her throat was dry, her mouth felt metallic and unpleasant. She wanted to vomit, but she had nothing her stomach.

Winter was seated in a chair next to her, leaning on the desk, her sharp, icy eyes on the holos.

"They edited what he said, most of the channels," Winter murmured – she'd been quick to appear, otherwise having nothing to do at the Alderaanian consulate, and she'd wanted tell Leia how everyone was in a tizzy because Bail had committed some sort of disappearing act.

Winter inclined her head.

"Only one is giving the full quote. The others are just saying he spoke foully to you."

Winter thought it was kind of them – the majority of them – to censor the words. It showed that despite their obsession with her love life, most of the world liked Princess Leia, and they did not take kindly to denigration.

"It doesn't matter," Leia said quietly. "Luscheck is just a desperate, vile man."

Luschek's insinuation was clear and easy to interpret; it didn't matter if it was censored, it had been heard and understood.

He'd been convicted, which meant he awaited sentencing. There was only some satisfaction there, as they had yet to decide of high ranking war criminals were going to be dealt with by the federal justice system, or returned to their home worlds for punishment. The issue of whether or not the federal system would employ the death penalty was also a hot topic.

Leia rubbed her forehead and leaned back, lifting her chin tiredly. She should have had more than kaffe this morning, the light, hazy feeling in her head was telling her that now. She should have gone home, instead of coming back to the Senate, but she couldn't let that sort of thing get to her; she wanted a place in this government, and she wanted to be effective in it, and she couldn't do that if she was incapable of getting through unpleasant events.

"Leia," Winter began, cut off as there was a knock at the door.

"Come in, Luke," Leia said.

Winter looked taken aback, and even more so when it was indeed Luke Skywalker who shuffled in. She smiled at him pleasantly, still leaning on Leia's desk, and he approached them, his face full of concern.

"Are you alright? I heard Luschek attacked you," he said. "Why aren't you in medical?"

Leia lowered her hand from her head.

"He didn't attack me," she corrected dully. "Not physically."

Luke folded his arms, his brow furrowing.

"The clip I saw said attacked," he insisted.

Leia just looked at him silently, and shook her head – so, the story was that out of hand. Winter looked back at the holovisions, watching for a moment – they seemed to be moving on; there were other reports to be given.

Luke looked around for a chair to pull up, and when he found one, dragged it forward and sat on the edge, settling in. He sat forward, starting to ask if he could get her anything, but Leia had turned her head towards Winter, hiding behind her hand. Luke swallowed hard as he realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was trying not to cry.

He threw a helpless look at Winter – he'd never seen her cry before, not really. Han had shouted at him for half an hour the day after the Battle of Endor, tearing him a new one for upsetting her on the bridge outside of the Ewok lodgings, but he hadn't actually seen the tears.

To say the least, he was alarmed.

"She's alright, Commander," Winter said mildly.

"Luke, please call me Luke – Leia, maybe you should go home," he said, leaning forward with even more concern.

She didn't look at him, but she did lower her hand.

"I'm fine, Luke," she said hoarsely.

Luke leaned back, grabbing the arms of his chair tensely.

"I'm going to get Han," he muttered.

Leia's head snapped towards him, blinking harshly a few times.

"You will not," she ordered sharply. "I don't need Han; I don't need you to go running to Han," she snapped – Han was frustrated enough with her. Han already thought she was out of control, or so he'd said when she'd inadvertently woken him up for the fourth time last night, this time because she was sick.

" _You're not eating enough,"_ he'd said, _"and the stress is making you sick. You're out of control. Take a sick day."_

She hadn't, though, and she suspected that was at least half of his irritation this morning, though she knew the other half was how heavily the uncertainty concerning her father was weighing on his shoulders. She couldn't seem to find the right time to see her father alone; she'd seen him in official capacity when they removed Threkin Horm from the council, but other than that –

"Han isn't a magic potion that fixes everything," she told Luke harshly – too harshly, she knew, but she was trying to regain physical control of herself, and anger usually assisted in that.

She also – she also feared she was starting to get scarily dependent on Han, and she didn't want that. She wanted to be with him, and she wanted to love him, but in a good way, a healthy way, so she had to avoid taking him like a drug. It hadn't been so much like this during the war – during the war, she'd had days and days where she scarcely thought of the Death Star or of Vader, but now – and on top of all that, there was her Father, her various positions, her public profile –

"Will you let down your defenses for a minute?" Luke asked, switching gears. He lowered his voice, flicking his eyes at Winter. "Let me give you some comfort?"

She looked at him coldly.

"I don't want you in my head," she growled.

Luke drew back, wary, and Leia lowered her eyes, sitting forward. She put her forehead in her palm for a moment, and then gestured at Winter.

"She knows," she told him. "About the Force, and Vader," she added. "There's no need to whisper."

Luke looked over at Winter, and this time looked at her for a bit longer. She smiled placidly, tucking loose strands of white blonde hair behind her ears. She reached out to rub Leia's arm thoughtfully, her expression calm, and gentle.

Leia sat back at Winter's touch, her face composed.

"It's not the first time a political opponent has been vulgar to me," she said callously. "There's nothing to be concerned about."

Luke said nothing. He doubted she'd experienced something specifically like _that_ before, but he didn't think he'd get anywhere pointing it out. He swallowed hard, and looked at her intently, his expression sage. Behind him, there was a sharp knock, and the door opened.

Leia was irritated to see both Rieekan and Dodonna enter, but it didn't show on her face – it wasn't what she needed or wanted right now, but chances were, they had a distraction. She made no move to dismiss Winter or Luke, though.

"Generals," she greeted tightly.

Rieekan looked at her intently.

"Princess, that was quite a show Luschek – "

"A doomed man's last attempt at pride, Carlist, let's move on," she said sharply, her eyes flicking to Dodonna. "Jan?"

"I – wondered if the Viceroy was here," he began.

Leia bit the inside of her lip for a moment.

"No," she said in a clipped tone. "I expect he's locked himself up with Madam Chief of State to see what they're going to do about my unsavory love life – in fact, General Dodonna, I'm amazed you aren't with them."

Dodonna looked at her with an utterly startled, mollified expression, and despite how amused he usually was at the expense of his more uptight colleagues, Rieekan even looked taken aback and somewhat disoriented.

A slight flush of colour to Leia's cheeks was the only indication that she might have regretted speaking rashly, but to Luke the outburst spoke to her general state of disarray at the moment. She may have her mind completely blocked off to him, but he was still able to read the room around him via the Force, and her presence was shaky, numb and unstable.

Dodonna cleared his throat, while Rieekan folded his arms and eyed her with paternal concern.

"I only inquire because he's…gone…missing."

Leia lowered her hand. She looked at him blankly.

"You're telling me you lost my father?" she asked coldly.

"He slipped his detail," Winter piped up. "I was on my way to tell you – he's not in danger, the security guys were looking for him, they're not harmed or concerned – they were annoyed."

Leia said nothing. She concentrated for a moment, using untapped power, untested sensitivity; to think about her father, discern his whereabouts. Luke looked at her sharply, sensing her attempt, and he leaned forward.

"Don't do that right now," he warned quietly.

Leia's lips tightened, and she turned her head towards the holovision.

She narrowed her eyes, willing herself to calm down, and after a moment, looked back.

"It's likely that he needed time alone."

"Nevertheless, I'd like to track him down," Dodonna remarked.

"He's probably in the gardens," Rieekan offered. He cleared his throat. "If you want some respite from those tribunals, Princess, I could use your input on the diplomatic side of a mission to Dubrillion – "

"There's also some concern about a sorcery sect on Dathomir," Dodonna said gruffly.

Leia knew they were trying to give her an out, but she didn't want to take it – and she didn't want these people in her office, and she didn't want to be as shaken up as she was right now, all because of some terribly public thing one old Imperial bastard had shouted at her.

She stood up abruptly.

"I'll go back to the War Crimes Tribunals after a bite to eat – your concern is," she paused, "it's all appreciated," she sighed, "but it's misplaced," she muttered. "I'm fine."

She looked up at a change in tone on the holovision, her eyes drawn to the screen. There played a vid of - it was her father, certainly, standing with his two security men, and opposite him was _Chewbacca_? – and both of them stood outside of the walkway to the _Falcon's_ secluded hanger. Leia blinked incredulously at the screen for a moment, and then compressed her lips as she read the scroll along the bottom:

 _Viceroy Organa was seen leaving General Han Solo's stomping grounds this morning…_

Leia swore quietly – one more thing; one _more_ thing to worry about – what the hell was he doing, going after Han? Han would never take well to it, he'd run his mouth, and things would be even worse – Gods, for a moment she so missed the bloody days during the war when life had been as simple as hiding on the Falcon in to Anoat system, and then immediately, she felt terrible for missing such troubled times, even if her head had arguably been screwed on better.

"I'd have enjoyed being a fly on the wall for that conversation," Dodonna remarked.

Leia found the remark indelicate. In fact, she turned towards him to snap at him again, to order him out of her office, but as she opened her mouth, and straightened up, lifting her hands, an ornamental glass paperweight on the desk spun in place and then flung itself into the air and shattered violently against the holovision, peppering the floor with glass.

Luke was out of his seat so fast Leia was startled to find him standing. Winter sat up slowly, taking her arm of Leia's desk, and as she was blinking, realizing in a slow, aching panic that _she'd_ been the one who flung it across the room, Han walked in, and she felt like _screaming_ \- why the hell were all of these people _here?_

"Where's the party?" Han muttered grimly, sparing no glance for Dodonna but fixing a quick gaze on all of the others.

He turned and looked at the glass on the floor, and Leia sat down heavily, her face unreadable. Han gauged that expression expertly, and he looked around again, and then shared a brief, pointed look with Rieekan before clearing his throat.

"Everybody," he said curtly. "Out."

There wasn't much hesitation; even Winter seemed to understand she wasn't useful at the moment. It was only Luke who lingered – beyond Rieekan's very hesitant, concerned last look – and he grabbed Han's elbow tightly, pulling him towards the door. He jerked his head at the shattered glass.

"She did that," he warned quietly, his blue eyes wide, almost scared.

"So, she got a little mad," Han retorted, shrugging carelessly.

"No, Han," Luke said earnestly. "She didn't _throw_ it."

Han looked at him a moment, a strange feeling in his chest. He got what the kid was saying, but he didn't like what seemed to be implied by it, and he shook Luke's hand off roughly, giving him a menacing look and pointing towards the door.

"Get out," he ordered.

The last thing Leia needed was Luke ogling her like she'd just turned into Vader or something, and he should know better. He was always the one complaining that she was untrained; he knew something like that couldn't have been – well, it couldn't have been deliberate – Han refused to believe that of her, or to even think of it of her.

He strode around to the seat Winter had been in, standing behind it, and rested his hands on the back of the chair.

Leia looked straight ahead of her for a moment, and then shifted her head, meeting his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged.

"I saw you left the courts early," he said. "What happened?"

"You didn't hear?" she retorted shortly.

He shook his head.

"Just that you left, and it was unscheduled," he said. "You okay?"

She didn't answer. She said:

"You didn't have to drop everything and run up here."

"I didn't, I was grabbin' a late lunch," he retorted, eyes narrowing. He looked at her stubbornly for a moment, and then leaned down, resting his weight on the back of the chair. "What happened, Sweetheart?" he asked.

She sat forward, her shoulders straight.

"When you went to get lunch, was it before or after you had your little clandestine chat with Father?" she asked acidly.

His jaw tightened.

"How'd you – never mind," he broke off; must have been the Media. "Leia, he came after me. All I did was not throw him out on his ass."

"How gentlemanly of you," she snapped.

He grit his teeth.

"You need to go home," he said, keeping his voice level. "You've barely eaten in three days, you're not sleeping – you're cracking, Leia, you need a _break_ ," he said heavily, his tone determined. "You've had a lot to deal with – you don't need to be in those trials anyway –"

"I want to be there," she said fiercely. "I want to see them weighed, measured, and found wanting. I want to watch their faces fall and the light in their eyes flicker furiously and indignantly when non-humans cuff them and drag them away. I want to watch them, sitting there, helpless, while their crimes are recounted – "

"I get that!" Han broke in. "But you can't – you've got," he cut himself off for a moment. "You can't do it this way. You – " he grit his teeth, already dreading his next words. "This is bad, Leia. You need to see someone."

Her expression hardened.

"I _don't_ need a therapist," she said harshly.

"Leia –" he started. "You've never _seen_ anyone about all this."

She couldn't believe Han, _Han_ of all people, was suggesting therapy to her – as if a therapist would ever be anything but idiotic, academic platitudes – and hell, he couldn't believe he was the one suggesting that, either, but it was Rieekan who'd advised him that Leia would need it. Rieekan, when he'd pulled Han aside at that first council meeting and asked if he was willing to be committed to everything Princess Leia was.

She stood up, and he stood, too, facing her. She shook her head, her eyes flashing angrily.

"If you can't handle me, Han, that's fine, but I don't need to be pawned off on a psychologist who is going to tell me to _breathe,_ or to write in a _diary –_ I don't want that," she shouted

"I don't mean – handle you?" he asked. " _Handle_ you?" he repeated, his temper flaring. "I'm not trying to handle you, I'm trying to – kriff, Leia, you're hurting yourself, trying to cope with all this stress – "

"You _cannot_ start berating me when I make your life a little difficult – "

"You think I'm berating you because I'm _inconvenienced_?" he fired back, raising his voice over hers. He leaned forward, forcing himself to keep from grabbing her and shaking her. "If I didn't want to deal with you, Leia, I could have hit the road when the war was over, I could have left you on Hoth – what the hell do you think I've been hanging around for, because you're _easy_? You think I'm just pissed because I can't get any sleep when you have bad nights?"

He ran his hand through his hair tensely, and paused, his eye catching movement in the doorway – Luke, perhaps, coming back just to check – or anyone else, Carlist, Dodonna, as it seemed to be one of those days everyone was hanging around Leia's office, and they hadn't shut the door, but he couldn't manage to shut up just now.

"What happened to the woman who was biting my head off for thinking she'd choose her father over me?"

Leia lashed back at him just as quickly, one hand flying to her hip; battle stance.

"You being insecure about my feelings is not the same as you not being able to handle me!"

 _"Kriff_ – what's gotten into you – stop acting like I haven't been there for you every damn day since you decided I was worth your time, Your Worship!"

"Worth my – oh, here we go with the 'your worship' nonsense again –

"It's not nonsense when you start accusin' me of only being around for the good times – it's bullshit, and you know it, Princess, you just don't to own up to the fact that you might need your head shrunk – hell, you might even need Luke, he seems to think he can help with – "

"I don't need Luke, and I don't need therapy, and I don't need you coddling me and condescending – "

"I didn't come up here to pick a fight," he barked, lifting his hand and pointing at her sharply. He had lost control of the conversation, and he wasn't sure how they'd ended up fighting – and he sensed, from the look in her dark eyes, that she wasn't sure what had happened, either. "If you want to start pushing me away, you're going to have to try harder than – "

He broke off, because she reached out and actually shoved him back a few inches. She put her hands on his shoulders and pressed hard again, and he covered one of her hands with his, standing his ground. He didn't fling her hands off of him, because he was stronger than her and he was afraid he'd hurt her, but he squeezed her fingers when she tried to push at him again.

" _Leia_!" he shouted, grabbing onto the chair with his other hand.

"One bad day in the public eye and you think I need to be committed!" she shouted right back. "You're _scaring_ me! You're scaring me, Han!"

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the chair in front of him. She wrenched her hand away and held it tensely, as if she were going to take a swing at him.

" _Committed_?" he fired back, his volume reaching a fever pitch. _"You're_ scared? Leia, I'm trying to make sure I don't walk in the door one day and find you've put a blaster bolt _through your head_!"

She stepped back from him, her hand rising to her mouth in something akin to terror, her eyes flickering. She stared at him silently, compressing her lips, and clasping her hands together in front of her, suddenly struck with how intensely he cared about her. There was real fear in his eyes, melded with a tense, worried kind of anger, and staring at him, watching how his shoulders shook, listening to his heavy breathing, out of breath from shouting, she really did think she might fall apart into pieces right in front of him.

She moved her lips wordlessly a moment, trying to find her voice. When she started to speak, the words came from behind her, and – they weren't hers.

"Your shouting can be heard from the lift down the hall."

It wasn't Luke – it hadn't been Luke Han thought he saw in the door, it hadn't been Dodonna; he saw the flash of dark blue cloak he'd stared at for so long this morning, and straightened, recognizing it immediately – it was eerily reminiscent of last night, though Bail and Han's positions were somewhat switched, and Leia turned, her head reeling.

Her stomach dropped dizzily.

"It's not a good time, Viceroy," Han said harshly – and he knew his tone was brittle and unbecoming, and he briefly considered how ill-timed it was for the Viceroy to appear now, when they'd had a fairly civil conversation this morning – but if Bail felt any of the animosity Han had felt last night, when he'd found himself staring at a heated exchange, he was in no mood for civility.

Bail took a deep breath after a moment, his jaw set tightly.

"I do not apologize for interrupting, General; I am unaccustomed to hearing my daughter shouted at like that, and I don't like it."

"She was shouting right back, _Sir_ ," Han snapped derisively. He narrowed his eyes angrily, slamming the chair in front of him down for emphasis. "You even listen to what I was shouting?" he demanded, unable to resist - it was fair enough that Bail didn't have the full context, and he and Leia had been going at it with a fair amount of brutality, but surely it counted for something that Han was actively expressing concern for her.

Leia put her hands out, stretched between them a little, her eyes closing briefly. One of her hands was close enough to lightly brush Han's chest, but her father was strides away from her. She opened her eyes, and fixed them on her father, thinking of how he'd apparently gone to Han behind her back this morning – wondering why he was here now.

"I don't need you intervening on my behalf, Father," she said shortly. "This doesn't concern you."

"You said, quite clearly, that he's scaring you," Bail said stiffly.

Leia laughed shortly, harshly – a mirthless laugh. He didn't understand – she wasn't scared of Han, not in any way that made her feel intimidated, or subjugated. Han would never hurt her; it was her own issues that made her afraid, even as she irrationally picked a fight with him. She'd just meant .. she'd just meant she was afraid he was going to start to see how exhausting it was to be with her.

Bail, his eyes narrow, his face pinched, spoke again, stepping further into the office – and to Han's chagrin, Rieekan suddenly appeared behind him, wary and apologetic.

"Viceroy," he began. "I saw you come in – I assure you, Princess Leia is capable of – "

Bail ignored him.

"I merely came to see if you were alright," he said, speaking directly to Leia. "I heard," here, he paused with difficulty. "I saw the news reports concerning the courts. Winter – told me what was said; she was concerned. It's difficult to shake the habits of a parent."

Leia considered him quietly, and then nodded, her heart still beating painfully in her chest.

"I'm fine," she said, more harshly than she meant to, even though the shattered glass on the floor, and the obvious argument he'd just interrupted, said otherwise. Han stood silent while she looked at her father, watched her jaw go hard – and he wondered what he'd missed; he hadn't heard any audio concerning the incident.

"I'm your father, Leia," Bail said, calm, but serious. "I'm used to being your protector."

"You aren't anymore," she said flatly.

Han straightened slightly, and he met Carlist's eyes. The other general looked uncomfortable, wary, and respectfully touched Bail's shoulder.

"Viceroy," he said quietly. "She's not in any danger here."

"Not here," Leia agreed, her voice soft, calculated, and critical. "Not in this office. Not with Han, not in this New Republic," she listed. On the tip of her tongue, an accusation hung - _I was unsafe when you gambled with my life against Vader_ \- but she swallowed it; he hadn't purposely thrown her to the hounds, and she knew how devastating it could be to voice things she could never unsay, even if she didn't mean them. She told herself to go easy on him; he'd walked in on a fairly aggressive fight, and she did suppose from his perspective, the verbal violence of it was daunting - and she had no idea if he'd seen her shove Han away, but if he had, that would raise his hackles, too.

Han moved around the chair, stepping towards Leia. He'd noticed her hands were shaking, and despite the audience, he reached for one, taking it tightly, looking at her a moment, and then back at the other two. He threaded his fingers into hers silently and, partially hidden from view, rested his other hand on her lower back, his thumb pressing lightly into a point on her spine, reminding her that even when they were fighting, he was still there.

"You cannot blame me, Lelila," Bail said, his voice hoarsening a little. "General Solo reacted the same way to the two of us fighting – "

"You were yelling at her in the middle of the night about things you don't have a damn clue about!" Han snapped.

Leia, her voice quiet again, ignored Han, but kept her eyes on Bail.

"That was different," she said carefully. "You were angry about my relationship with Han," she paused, "Han is trying to help."

She acknowledged that with her words, and with a squeeze of her hand, and the next thing she said caught Han so completely off guard that he stared at her with his mouth open slightly – not only because she said it to her father, but because Carlist was there, too.

"Alderaan is gone. Grand Moff Tarkin had me raped. Darth Vader tortured me until it was impossible for me to scream anymore. He tortured Han and forced me to watch; he used me as a trap for Luke – and then I found out he was my father. And yet your concern," she paused, tilting her head at Han almost politely. "is _him_."

Bail was looking at her with a white face, thin lips, stricken eyes – he looked more skeletal, and more haunted, than he had than when Han had found him in the wreckage, and Han didn't blame him.

"In the grand scheme of things, I am not alright," Leia said final, her voice still soft, and low, "and now you know why."

She stood there a moment longer, and then spoke in a controlled voice that barely hid the fact that she was on the verge of tears.

"I'm sorry things aren't the way they were before."

The lines in her father's face broke, while a pained expression washed over his features, and Han dared spare a glance for Rieekan, who stood with his hand limply on Bail's shoulder still, his eyes suddenly fixed on Leia with startled confusion, and a deep sense of sadness – but, Han was glad to see, there was no animosity, despite the fact that she'd just revealed something – two things – Han was sure he'd never hear her speak about to anyone else.

Bail started forward.

"Leia," he began quickly, his tone calm, but almost desperate – uncontrolled enough that she could tell she'd unnerved him; she just wondered which part had unnerved him the most.

Han put his arm around her shoulders and gave the Viceroy a warning look, stopping short of putting his hand up and physically indicating that he should stay away. Bail Organa had to know, he had to at least guess, that those statements would have taken all the strength she had for the moment.

He remembered what Leia said about not ordering Bail to stay away, that he would think it was controlling, so he didn't say anything at all, but a fresh wave of irritation did roll over him, perhaps misplaced, just because he was so bitter about anything that negatively affected Leia, and she was damn near on the verge of a meltdown; she seemed on the verge of moments as painful as those she'd had in the aftermath of Endor.

Carlist cleared his throat.

"Bail," he said, more sternly, gripping his shoulder firmly again.

He started to authoritatively lead the Viceroy out of the office, Han turned towards Leia, flatly not caring if her father was still around. He pulled her closer, lowering his forehead to hers. His angry energy was dampened considerably, and he was wary of what she was going to do now – was she going to come back at him full force? Or did he have Bail to thank, miraculously, for barging in before it became one of those fights that went much, much too far?

Had he and Bail just undone everything they'd precariously established this morning?

Leia took a deep breath and shifted in his grip, tilting her face up to his, catching his eye intently. She leapt back into their previous conversation swiftly, honing in on what was bothering him, her thoughts immediately going back to that look in his eye, the look that was so clearly coming from a fear of losing her.

"Han," she said hoarsely, a strange calm settling over her. "Han, I'm not going to kill myself," she assured him – and as she said it, she knew it was absolutely true; she'd never felt that urge, not even in the bleakest days after Alderaan, not even when Tarkin's lieutenants had held her down in her cell.

She needed him to know he could count on her words, regarding this.

"How the hell am I supposed to know that?" he asked. "Your people are dropping like flies."

She stepped forward and took his shoulders, squeezing them tightly. She held his gaze, shaking her head.

"I don't want to die," she assured him.

She willed him to believe it, pleaded with him to believe it – it was the truth. She had survived the darkest things imaginable, but she'd _survived_ them, and it was an insult to all she'd fought for to throw away her life – to choose to abandon it when so many had been dragged unwillingly into that great beyond. She wanted to see peace; she wanted to _see_ what they'd won – she loved Luke, she had good relationships with people, and she loved Han; she had plenty to live for.

She put her hands on his face, her thumbs stroking his jaw. The whole argument was derailed by Bail's appearance, and somehow, his concern reminded her that Han's was valid, and Han's was real, and Han was here, struggling with her, pushing her, because he needed her, too. He was scared of being unable to keep her from collapsing beneath the weight of it all. He was scared of losing her, and she'd do everything in her power to make sure he never did. She was too familiar with what it was like to lose someone you loved; she would never do anything to inflict that sort of pain on him.

"I'm not going to kill myself," she repeated huskily, her voice cracking. "I," she started, her eyes uncertain, thinking back to how she'd so easily held herself together during the war. "I miss fighting," she confessed, her eyes widening at her own admission.

"Fighting," he repeated. "Fighting – with me?"

"No," she said. " _We_ fight all the time. I miss – I don't miss the war," she said. "I miss the distraction."

He nodded, holding her around the waist tightly. He lifted her onto her desk, reaching up to touch her lips with his thumb, studying her tired face – pale cheeks, circles under her eyes. They were hidden by make-up, but he knew they were there, and there was something freshly haunted in her eyes, like whatever had been said at the Tribunals really had been worse than she would admit – and if whatever it was had prompted her to tell her father – and to tell Rieekan, though he'd probably suspected – about the ultimate insult Tarkin had given her, it was bad.

"You need to go home, Sweetheart," he said seriously.

She sighed and let her hands drift from his face to his shoulders again.

"I cannot be intimidated by the life I chose, Han," she said. "I am not going to let these people take anything else away from me. They're just words."

"You stayed through his whole trial, didn't you?" Han challenged. "But that's not all this is. This is everything else weighing on you, too." One of his hands rested gently on her thigh, his index finger tracing patterns there. "What did he say, Leia?"

She tilted her head to the side.

"I've had much worse than what he said," she answered, cagey.

Her throat felt dry again, and her eyes stung – he was right; she needed to go home. She needed to eat, and to drink something calming, and to wash the day off, and everyone would speculate, everyone would want to know if she was buckling under the pressure, if she was losing her nerve, and Luschek may even hear that he'd gotten to her, but it would be worse if she really lost it.

She was taking in stress from so many different sources, each with a different nerve to hit when it settled in her veins. The return of her father had done more damage than good, it seemed, though not to the extent that she wanted him gone – she just was so uncertain on how to proceed, how to integrate him.

She was so afraid of the discord that might flare between her father and Han – that had already flared – and she was so repulsed by the specter of the past her father would have to tell her about, that she was trying to deal with it the way she'd deal with the Death Star, and Alderaan – keep it in the past, move forward, stay strong, _fight_ – but she couldn't. This was happening now. Her father was no longer a thing of the past.

Her father was someone walking in on her arguments with her lover, and thinking he had a right to input.

"Leia?" Han ventured. "You hear me? Let's go home."

She nodded her head, her expression unreadable.

"Let me clean up that glass," she said.

He shook his head.

"You can get that later," he said shortly. "What – what's that about, anyway?" he asked.

Leia's eyes fluttered faintly, and she shivered. She didn't want to dwell on that – she hadn't been able to _see_ , physically, she'd felt blind, and then a terrible sort of relief when she heard the glass shatter, and she knew that's what Luke was talking about – that's what he was scared of, if she resisted his teaching.

But it was also why she didn't dare let him teach her. It felt too good, the relief that came after giving in to anger, and she was afraid of what introspection through the Force would awaken inside of her.

She sighed.

"If my aim was better, I'd have broken Jan's nose with it," she said, a hoarse, hollow attempt at a joke.

Han snorted.

"Serve 'im right."

She sat forward and ran her hands up his neck – she may have said she didn't need Han, but she always wanted him, and he was such a calming presence now. There was no wariness in his eyes, none of the startled fear that sometimes came into Luke's; Han didn't remind her of anything other than how much she loved him, and how reliable he was.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, wondering what he'd do if she asked him to fuck her right here, right now – he'd be tempted, sure, but he'd probably refrain, and this wasn't one of those times when it was a good idea for her to lose herself in sexual comfort – but still, she kissed him, moving her lips down to the scar on his chin, pulling him closer to her.

"Princess," he said in her ear, his voice hoarse. "The door's still open." Unspoken, she heard his warning, tongue-in-cheek, perhaps, but sour, too: _Wouldn't want your old man to walk in now._

She nodded, and rested her head on his shoulder a moment, lowering her head enough for him to lift his and start to step back, hellbent on convincing her to take a break _._

"You smell good," Leia murmured. "You always smell so good," she paused, trailing off.

He tilted is head, looking down at her. She had her nose pressed tightly against him, and she seemed suddenly more exhausted than he'd ever seen her. He pressed his lips to the side of her head and stepped back, giving her his hand and guiding them both around the shattered glass on the floor.

He watched as she pulled herself together; watched those shoulders go back, watch her face become unreadable and cool – he watched the impenetrable veil of composure come down on her as she left the office with him and walked through the halls, and his thoughts went back to his conversation with Bail this morning, and his struggles with trying to interact with Leia when he hardly knew her anymore.

He started to think that, if Bail was the final straw that was threatening to break her, it was her relationship with him that needed to be dealt with, front and center – because there was nothing she had to worry about when it came to Han.

* * *

 _so, I originally toyed with the idea of Han, in a fit of sort of, anger, telling Bail everything that happened, but I decided it would ultimately require adding an unnecessary level of drama (and contention between Han + Leia) and on top of that, I don't want the men in the story having control over the conversation regarding that issue._

 _besides, it would be a little idiotic if Han tells Luke to back off in one chapter and then runs his mouth to Bail two chapters later. I'm actually not sure why I'm running my mouth right now. except, maybe some will ask if it was necessary for Bail to get all the details and ... frankly, I think it ultimately was. and it's probably good for Leia to verbally acknowledge what happened to more than just one person._

 _-alexandra_


	17. Sixteen

_a/n: Carlist the Amazing, take 2  
also, again: trigger warning applies. but I think this is the last chapter where it is overt.  
also, also: this is my second favorite chapter. and it's been edited/had stuff added/subtracted like 50 times for the sake of treating things properly.  
_

* * *

 ** _Sixteen_**

* * *

There was a locked safe in Carlist Rieekan's office at the Alderaanian Embassy where, sequestered behind retinal scanners, access codes, and fingerprint verifications, he kept certain treasures and keepsakes that were all he had left of his home world. He rarely opened the safe, as he didn't like to dwell, but with Viceroy Bail Organa sitting in his office – looking haggard, homesick, and hollow – he decided now was a good time.

He was silent as he opened the safe, just as he'd been silent while he drew the Viceroy out of the Senate building and away from the growing fiasco that was unfolding in the Princess' office. He felt odd about commanding his sovereign, but logic told him that Han Solo was likely a scapegoat for every difficult feeling Bail had, and experience told him Leia was just fine with Han, even if they had been shouting at each other at the top of their lungs. In fact, Carlist was of the opinion that Han and Leia sitting in _silence_ would have been the bigger indicator of a problem.

Carlist reminded himself that he was conditioned to hearing them fight; Bail wasn't. Leia had done her fair share of shouting at people on Alderaan, before she'd acquired a cooler, more daunting way of dealing with irritants, but Bail was unaccustomed to hearing anyone shout _back at her._ It had to have been a shock to hear a virtual nobody like Han – even if he was a General – raising his voice disrespectfully. Rieekan, on the other hand, had been present on Hoth where the two of them used to have shouting matches in the main hanger.

Clearing his throat, Rieekan turned and strolled back to the conference table that occupied a space near the window. He selected two highball glasses from a shelf, and stood at the table next to Bail, pouring a measure of distilled liquor into the glasses before taking a seat. He held the bottle reverently, and then turned it, revealing the label.

"Arallute gin, from the stem sap, and the seeds," he said gruffly.

Bail's eyes widened slightly as he touched the offered glass, and he swallowed tightly. He looked up, questioning.

"I track down what I can, from home," Rieekan said tiredly. "I've only been able to find two bottles of this – two that are genuine. We don't have a large enough supply of Arallutes in the greenhouses to spare for distilling."

"This was rare, even in Aldera," Bail said hoarsely.

Rieekan nodded.

"My little side adventures, things that keep me sane – treasure hunting, for Alderaan's artifacts," he said heavily. "The crowning jewel of the collection is a bottle of Isatabith Wine."

Bail's lips parted, longing touching his expression – Isatabith Wine, a gift from the pears found only in the Isatabith Rain Forest. It had always been made in miniscule batches, out of respect for the natural fruit population. It was sweet, dry, and the colour of the freshest summer grass, served on the most auspicious of occasions, and given as gifts to those honored in the highest regard.

Rieekan's lips turned up sadly at the expression on Bail's face – the wine had been an unexpected find; he'd met with a collector about tracking down a few moss paintings he had heard were still circulating in the black markets, and the collector had offered him the wine instead, unsure how he'd come by it, aware it was Alderaanian, but unaware how rare it was.

Carlist hadn't touched the bottle himself; it was unopened, fiercely protected, and lying in wait – much as he revered the token, and would enjoy having it for himself, for his own sentiment, he'd taken it with the explicit intention of giving it to Princess Leia.

He'd thought to give it to her on her wedding day, if that ever came, and thinking of that now, he sat forward, curling his hand around the gin in his glass, his mind coming back to the issue at hand – Leia's experiences during the war; Leia and Han, Bail and Han – the maelstrom swirling about it all.

He cleared his throat gently.

"Viceroy, may I speak freely for the rest of this conversation?"

Bail was quick to wave his hand carelessly, nodding. He picked up his glass and examined it, looking at the clear, nearly iridescent gin within. He took a long, careful sip, savoring it, and then swallowed heavily, nodding again.

"Yes, Carlist, everyone else seems to be doing so," he said.

It wasn't that he felt slighted at all – he'd been a Senator, he was used to different worlds, and the collision of different cultures, and being treated with varying degrees of reverence – but he said what he said to convey how much he was struggling with the way things were within his own family.

Rieekan nodded, leaning forward.

"When Alderaan was destroyed, I lost my wife, and my children," he said heavily – the pain was old, now, but it was still there. "Princess Leia lost her parents. There were holes there, that we – we could fill for each other. In an unspoken way, but I think she understood that, and I could certainly see that there were days when she needed your counsel desperately."

Bail listened to him, his hand wrapped firmly around his drink.

"But time did not stand still, and we all had to find a way to go on, and you know as well as I do that fighting wars changes people – and this was different than the Clone Wars, Bail. We were insurgents, not authorized military. Everyone was on the front lines. There was no etiquette in the trenches," Rieekan paused, and frowned for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

"Things are different between myself and Stav," he said, referring to his rescued brother. "We've experienced awful things, but vastly different awful things. "It's difficult to relate. I'm – I've come to terms with what happened to Alderaan, and he's drowning. I suspect that if I had my boys back, or even just Morrie," he spoke of his wife fondly, and paused, "there would be difficulty adjusting there, too. What I'm trying to say is," he paused again.

He leaned back, and sighed.

"I feel equipped to give you some insight on this," he said firmly. "On whatever your – qualms are, whatever you think you're seeing. I don't want you to think I spent the years treating the Princess of Alderaan like a common soldier, but my idea of watching over her wasn't the same as Mon's or even Jan's – and definitely not Threkin's," he explained. He tapped his finger on his glass. "I hope you know I would have stepped in if I thought anything inappropriate was going on. Anything," he hesitated delicately, "anything she hadn't initiated."

He watched as the Viceroy's throat bobbed, as Bail looked down at his gin and pulled it closer to him, his expression guarded. After a moment, he lifted his chin and held Rieekan's gaze.

"I am quite certain you served both the Rebellion and my daughter honorably," he said sincerely.

For a moment, that was all he said, and then his shoulders sagged slightly, and he leaned back in his chair – tired, frustrated.

"You know, that's precisely why I asked you for his location this morning, to feel him out to try and wrap my – my head around this," Bail held his hand out roughly. "I even complimented the ship!"

Rieekan laughed, but Bail only scowled lightly.

"I don't think he bought it," he muttered.

"Well, no one compliments that old pile of frayed wires," Rieekan snorted. "I just thought it'd be a nice olive branch."

"Perhaps it simply made me seem insincere."

"Oh, Han's not an idiot, he'd have realized what it was," Rieekan said, waving his hand briefly. "You wouldn't want your daughter dating a man who was fooled by obvious flattery, anyway."

Bail's expression was dry, pinched.

"I think it's clear its gone beyond mere dating," he said in a perturbed tone. "This is a full-blown affair. She is living with him."

Rieekan nodded carefully.

"She's…never actually confirmed that publicly," he said slowly. "Although, it's – inevitable, or best, I – well, it seems before that she was spending nights on the _Falcon_ and losing sleep going back to her apartment to get ready for the day the next morning."

"I really don't think I needed to know that, Carlist."

"Er, sorry," Rieekan said, albeit not too contritely.

Bail sighed, raising his glass to his lips again. The taste of home was a comfort; it was familiar – it was like it used to be, even if nothing else was. He never thought he'd be the type to feel so nostalgic that he clung ridiculously to old mores, but could he help it?

"I understand," Rieekan began, "that you – that perhaps you expected her to be the one constant, the connection to home. And she is, she's that for so many people, but you've seen that things are different," he explained, "and I think – I admit, Princess Leia plays it very close to the vest, and she hardly confides in me personally about anything, but I think she's been very distraught about what you might think of her."

Rieekan paused, taking a drink. He swallowed his own mouthful, and reached for the bottle, to give them both another generous measure.

"I assured her you'd be proud of the woman she is, and I certainly hope I was not wrong."

There might have been a time when Rieekan speaking that freely, implying Bail was acting incorrectly, would have been wildly inappropriate, severely frowned upon – and he half expected to be reprimanded now, but the Viceroy said nothing. He just accepted another measure of liquor, and considered Rieekan thoughtfully, his jaw tight.

"Did you know about Tarkin?" Bail asked stiffly.

Rieekan hesitated.

"We, and by we I mean those of us in high command, suspected," he answered finally. "We knew what Tarkin's usual arsenal included. Obviously her medical records were extremely confidential, only Mon and I saw them, but part of her treatment was emergency contraceptive, for safety's sake. She was given a full battery of treatments based on what we had heard concerning Imperial torture tactics. But she refused to answer any questions."

Bail leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows. He put his hand in his hands and gripped his hair, his chest filling with dread – and Luke had said Vader presided over all of this, Vader, the man who had once been Anakin Skywalker, that bright, eager boy who was so eager to please, to be a hero – Bail shook his head, lowering his hands speaking through is fingers.

"Kest, how could he allow that to be done?" he asked hoarsely, almost asking himself. "The son of a bitch – monster – "

"You're surprised that Tarkin was a perverse piece of shit?"

"Not Tarkin," Bail said, staring straight ahead.

Rieekan looked away, a shiver running through his spine – from what he knew of Vader, there was nothing redeeming about the Sith Lord, either, but Bail seemed to be taken aback that he would allow it. That – of course begged the question of what Leia had been talking about, when she mentioned Vader – and Rieekan wondered if he even had a right to ask.

He leaned back a little, eyeing Bail warily.

"What was she talking about?" he asked quietly. "Vader?"

Bail shook his head, his expression grim. He studied Rieekan's face for a moment, and then grit his teeth – Leia was the one who had brought it up. If she had, regardless of how upset she'd been, then there was some part of her that trusted Carlist enough to mention it when he was there.

"You know Breha and I adopted Leia," he said cautiously.

Rieekan shrugged.

"Well, yes, sir, but – you returned from the Clone Wars with a baby," he said, arching a brow. "It was fairly commonly believed she was _yours_ , even if she wasn't the Queen's."

"Yes," Bail said irritably. "Celly told Leia that rumor when she was twelve – but I was never unfaithful to Breha. I never could have been. And if I'd had a child with someone else, when Breha was unable to have one? The insult would have been – I'm a better man than that, I think," he said, introspective for a moment. "I thought."

Rieekan shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm not here to pass judgment on that," he said hastily. "It was just publicly known that your closest cohorts in the Senate were women."

"Women are generally smarter than men," Bail retorted under his breath. "Their natural reaction to anything isn't to pull out a gun."

Carlist snorted.

"You know that there were some whispers even that she was Mon Mothma's?"

Bail looked outright scandalized.

"Mon was just a girl back then!" he snapped. "She was sixteen!"

She'd been a sharp, trustworthy, and impossibly reliable sixteen, but almost a child nonetheless, and it was a mixture of her close friendship with Padme Amidala and the general perception that she was just a naïve little aide from Chandrila that later allowed her to be in the know – no one anticipated the depth of her capacity for deception and resistance.

"What I'm saying," Carlist said, clearing his throat awkwardly, "is that Alderaan loved Leia, and Queen Breha accepted her wholeheartedly, which sealed the deal, but there were hardly any who thought it was some great mystery about where she'd come from."

"Perhaps you can see why I was content to let those rumors be," Bail said shortly.

Rieekan compressed his lips – he certainly could, if what Leia had said was…was somehow true. He ran his finger around the rim of his glass, and looked at Bail with thinly veiled expectation, a wary curiosity on his face.

"She can't possibly be – "

"Carlist, do you think she'd say such a thing if it wasn't true?" Bail asked tiredly.

He looked at the other man, defeat in his eyes, and then shook his head. Rieekan swallowed, shaking his head.

"Luke's her _brother_ ," he said edgily. "That would mean – Luke _Skywalker_ ," Rieekan said suddenly, abruptly. "Skywalker."

Bail nodded once. Carlist reached up and rubbed his jaw, falling back on old memories – he was considerably younger than Bail, closer in age to Han Solo – he'd been a few years into adulthood when the wars started and the Republic fell apart, but as a citizen of one of the core worlds, and one as important as Alderaan at that, he'd seen the teeming center of the Clone Wars – and he almost remembered a young Jedi called –

"They're Anakin Skywalker's children?" he asked hoarsely. "That – Jedi Knight who defeated Count Dooku? The pilot?"

As he spoke, it seemed to make more sense – Luke Skywalker was a remarkable pilot, despite having no real training other than spending days practicing with old, falling apart ships salvaged on his Uncle's farm. But –

"Anakin Skywalker was – he didn't survive the war," Rieekan said, stammering. "He – didn't he die? We never heard about him – all of the Jedi died. They were – purged, weren't they? Killed by their own clone attachments?"

"Yes," Bail said quietly. "The _Jedi_."

Rieekan was quiet for a long time. He remembered rumors that one of the Jedi heroes of the wars had betrayed the Republic; he remembered chaos in the last few days of disorder, before the Empire had coalesced – when the Empire had seemed like respite, at first, because the fighting was over. But then the iron grip had tightened, information had become scarce, and history was so distorted that Rieekan, like many others, found contradictions when he tried to research what he remembered.

"Anakin Skywalker became Darth Vader?" Rieekan asked finally.

"The man that was Anakin Skywalker died on Mustafar, according to Master Kenobi," Bail said, inclining his head. He lifted his glass, holding to his lips. "Though – I never did quite understand that mumbo-jumbo about the Dark Side, how it distorted who the person was," he muttered. He took a long sip. "How could they not be the same?" he asked aloud.

He'd asked it of Obi-Wan so many times, and Kenobi had never seemed to give a satisfying answer. It was impossible to explain, ethereal – mystic, he claimed.

Rieekan stared at Bail for a long time, and then he leaned forward.

"You separated them and hid them," he said slowly, "because they'd be powerful," he guessed. He swallowed. "They could be weapons against Vader – he knew about them? That's why he was always after Luke?"

Bail shook his head.

"I don't know when he discovered Luke, but he thought they died with their mother – and he didn't know there were two, not until the end," he said.

Rieekan had moved on though, his eyes narrowing.

"Did you raise Princess Leia to be nothing more than the bullet for the Empire's heart?" he demanded, unable to stop the irritation flashing through his eyes.

Bail's expression was calm, but hardened, and he met the other man's eyes carefully.

"No," he said, firmly, and sincerely, letting it hang a moment before he continued, "the other option was having the children killed so that they'd never fall prey to the Emperor, or never be used selfishly by those around them – or never grow up to be him," he said darkly. "Master Kenobi and I – Carlist, they're the children of a man who was prophesized eons ago. They had a destiny. We took care of them, and we loved them, because they could save the world, if they could only save their father," he paused, his voice catching, thinking of all he'd learned about Leia's experiences with Vader. "I thought," he said softly. "I thought – there was such leniency shown towards Leia in the Senate," he murmured.

"You mapped her life," Rieekan started hesitantly, his expression still dark.

"I did not," Bail corrected, his voice getting sharp. "Breha and I gave Leia a childhood. She went to school, she had friends – she was loved and allowed to think for herself. All she ever had to be was the Princess of Alderaan; she could have stayed home, safe in the palace, a domestic Queen, like Breha. She chose the Senate, Carlist. She chose the political world. It's in her blood. She was never going to sit idly by, wrapped up in jewels and silks, while the less fortunate suffered and died."

Rieekan's sensibilities still protested; he felt disarmed and uncertain, and he looked at the Viceroy with a wariness he hadn't experienced before. He'd been around the palace enough in years past to know that Leia had been the darling of her family, and she had been treated well and given the independence to make her own decisions – and it was true that Bail had not wanted her running for the Senate so early, but there still seemed to linger something dark about it all.

"Destiny," Bail said hoarsely, "if you believe in it - destiny is a nearly impossible thing to overcome. Luke's family couldn't have kept him on Tatooine for anything, and Leia," he swallowed hard, "from the moment she took her first steps, it was clear we'd never keep Leia locked in a palace."

Carlist watched him in silence - there was truth in that, for sure. How many times had Bail made irritated calls to Rieekan, to other Alderaanians who were near the Imperial capitol, to remark - _'The Princess has escaped her detail again - Carlist, so help me, she outruns every security guard I assign her - I'm going to have to induct her into the damn rebellion to put a stop to this slinking around the slums of the city...she thinks she's being subtle...bring her home for a week or something...'?_

Leia had spent her days on Coruscant ingratiating herself into spy enclaves and connecting with her own Rebellion contacts, and that was before her father had openly admitted to her that _yes,_ he was part of the Alliance, _yes,_ he had started it - _fine,_ he supposed she was old enough to join if it meant she'd stop thwarting his attempts to keep her safe - and then he'd sent her off to get Ben Kenobi, and the rest was history.

"Bail," Carlist said finally. "Who was their mother? The Jedi – I had believed the Jedi were celibate."

"Which likely explains their apparent ignorance on the topic of using contraception when engaged in clandestine affairs," Bail retorted under his breath.

Rieekan raised his brows, and Bail sighed, leaning forward. He put both hands around his glass this time, and frowned, looking at the general tiredly.

"I'm afraid I can't discuss that with you presently," he said. "As – someone," he said, thinking back to the way General Solo had nearly taken his head off at the mention of Leia's mother this morning, "recently told me – Leia has the right to know everything first. I've got to speak with her about it."

Rieekan nodded, accepting that as valid. He shook his head, clenching his teeth – no wonder Princess Leia had been so conflicted about all of this. He should have known it couldn't all just be stemming from worry that her father wouldn't like Han – it was more than that. It was much, much more than that.

"I don't think I need to impress upon you that this isn't public knowledge," Bail began, and Rieekan nodded sharply, his expression aghast.

"Of course," he said firmly. "I would never betray the confidences of House Organa – or Princess Leia in general," he said sincerely. "I, in turn – Viceroy, I hope you know that this does nothing to change my opinion of her. That she could exist in this world knowing who her father was and still remain the beacon of integrity she is," he paused, shaking his head, "it makes her far more admirable in my eyes than I thought she could possibly be."

Bail blinked at him in a bit of amusement.

"That was quiet poetic, Carlist."

Rieekan looked sheepish and took a drink of liquor, reaching for the bottle again. It was a moment before Bail found words again, and he ran a hand up his cheek, rubbing his temple.

"So, this is something she's confided in General Solo," he said, almost to himself. "Vader, all of it."

"Good God, Bail, of course she'd tell Han," Rieekan retorted, his eyes widening. "She'd have felt it necessary – Vader had Han tortured. For _sport_. She could never have lived with herself if she thought he didn't know what he was getting into."

Bail's expression pinched up again, and he scowled.

"I don't think Han would care if Leia's father was a gundark," Rieekan went on, snorting to himself. "In fact, you two seem to be making each other's lives hell, so maybe Han would prefer taking on Vader with a blaster – "

"Carlist, I've changed my mind about allowing you to speak freely."

Rieekan shut his mouth, still amused, and slid the bottle of gin over to Bail, gesturing generously – he was welcome to help himself.

"That man," Bail growled under his breath. "He's arrogant, he's over-confident – why is he always slouching?" he muttered. " _Slouching_ ," he added, as if it were the worst thing Leia could have fallen for in a man. "And _lounging_ on things, and wearing – he's dressed like," Bail trailed off, griping half-to himself, and Rieekan kept a very serious look on his face, trying hard not to laugh at him. "He's always got a blaster holstered to him – does one always _need_ a blaster? Has he ever washed his shirt? And – "

"Viceroy," Rieekan finally interrupted. "If your only concerns are his fashion choices at this point, I'd say you've got a lot less to worry about than some fathers," he pointed out, his lips twitching.

Bail's expression was troubled, dark again, and he shook his head.

"It's not merely that," he said.

Rieekan nodded – he suspected as much, and to an extent, he understood. He understood Mon Mothma and Dodonna's difficulty in accepting it, too. He even assumed that if they'd been back on Alderaan and Leia came waltzing home from Coruscant one day with Han Solo in tow, he'd have thrown his own fit about it – but things were different. The world was different.

"The way he was shouting at her," Bail said darkly. "The utter lack of respect for who she is."

"He's Corellian. They don't have hierarchies like that."

"But the sheer lack of breeding in a man who would disregard the customs of another culture – "

"Look, Bail – I can see where you're coming from, I get that hearing that was a shock," he said earnestly – and he meant it; it hadn't occurred to him to be fazed by it because – "But you've got to understand, they yell at each other like that _all the time_. They used to yell at each other in the hallways, in public. The Rogue squadron took bets on who would win," Rieekan was trying to illustrate that it wasn't a bad thing, but the Viceroy was looking at him stonily.

"Well, what a wonderful, healthy relationship," he said sarcastically.

Rieekan laughed a little.

"It wasn't nasty fighting, it was bickering, and if you ask me it was fore – "

Rieekan suddenly clamped his mouth shut, hurriedly cutting himself off – he'd completely forgotten, for a moment, who he was speaking to, and the fiercely annoyed look Bail Organa fixed on him reminded him in a quick, intimidating second.

"Would you like to finish that sentence, Carlist?"

"Uh, no," Rieekan said hastily. "I'm simply – trying to illustrate that," he paused, frowning.

Bail grit his teeth again.

"She allowed me to find out about this through the press, and somehow, everything I've done since then is wrong – and I'm not saying I didn't make any mistakes," he said, grimacing. "But that – man, General Solo, he's got no sensitivity about it. He kicks me out of her apartment, he treats me like I'm a threat to her, Carlist. Who the hell does he think he is?"

Rieekan raised his shoulders.

"He's Han Solo, Viceroy," he said flatly. "He's irreverent and he doesn't care about ceremony, and the only person he really takes orders from is your daughter."

Bail scowled, and Rieekan tilted his head.

"He was one of the best assets we had, you know. Invaluable to our success, and he was there for Leia," Rieekan said simply. "Chewbacca was there for the cause, but Han was there for Leia. He never actually took a single credit for rescuing her," Rieekan confessed finally. "When he came back to help us at the Battle of Yavin, he returned the reward, and he stayed with us on contract until a bounty hunter finally caught up with him."

The Viceroy looked down at the liquor in his glass, focusing on the glimmers of colour reflected in it – interesting to hear, considering how he'd asked Han what he thought Leia was worth this morning. If he'd really done that – and Rieekan was unlikely to lie about it – then there was more to him than a criminal past and a mercenary history; people didn't fight for free unless something drove them to it.

Bail's brow furrowed.

"Do you know if he earned his bloodstripes in the Imperial Military?" he asked thoughtfully.

Rieekan shrugged.

"I don't know the story behind those," he said. "He has both levels though, red and gold. I doubt they were earned in Imperial service. The Empire stripped him of all awards and titles; Corellia allowed him to keep the stripes."

That was important to Bail – meritorious service in the Imperial Military couldn't be indicative of a good thing, as what they considered meritorious was unsavory, to say the least – but despite their rough-and-tumble nature, Corellian culture overall had a strong code of honor, and it was at Corellia that the first treatise creating the Rebellion had been signed.

Bail sighed.

"I don't know, Carlist," he said. "The Media is all over this, and she seems so – jaded. She – I don't want her to write off my concern – "

"Here's the thing," Rieekan said. "Sir, you were never much of an elitist, you valued people for their actions. I saw proof of that many times – so despite the shock – and yes, I know things are different when it's your own family, and there's a tall, rugged, loud-mouth scoundrel, er, _lounging_ around your daughter, but I know you have the capability to evaluate Han on his merit, and even if he rubs you the wrong way, acknowledge that he's very, very important to Princess Leia." Rieekan paused, swallowing. "You know she's a conscientious leader, you know she's intelligent and everything else you raised her to be – so ask yourself why she'd stand by him despite criticism from her oldest friends if she wasn't absolutely certain about him."

Rieekan searched Bail's face while he watched him think – he hadn't really brought him in here with the intent to champion Solo's cause, but he had seen the change in Leia when she'd come back from Bespin without him, and he'd seen the change in her again when Solo was back at her side. Han had never known Leia on Alderaan, and he treated her as an equal; he challenged her, and he made her laugh – he was good for her, and he was good to her. He did understand Bail's reservations, because there had been a time when he himself had had them too – before the years had gone by, when he thought that, just maybe, Solo had returned the reward because he thought he could get his hands on the Princess herself.

But it had never been that way.

"Don't let this Media circus about Han sway you," Rieekan said seriously. "Princess Leia is loved and respected, this is just – it's light gossip. It's a thrill. Don't be fooled. They want to hear about her love life because they're tired of hearing about death and destruction. It'll pass, when they get used to it – people love her. Alderaanians still love her. She's not spitting in anyone's face."

Bail sighed heavily, taking a long swing of his gin. He tapped the side of the glass and looked at Rieekan seriously, his expression unreadable.

"You have all the benefit of grieving with her through the war, of experiencing the war with her," he said heavily. "You've watched this, or known about this for years – you've known Han Solo for years," he said. "I don't have that foundation to rely on."

Rieekan nodded – of course; Bail's knee jerk reaction was to protect his nineteen-year-old little girl, even though she wasn't nineteen anymore, and even though she was no longer someone who was so innocent in her political ideals and so filled with bright, youthful optimism and revolutionary fervor that she still called her father every night from her Coruscant apartment to tell him how she'd stood up to the latest Grand Moff.

Things must be so infinitely hard for the Viceroy, Rieekan understood that. He was thrust into all of this; he'd been in this world, this era, for barely a month, whereas the rest of them had all built it with their bare hands. Rieekan wanted to give him some sort of that foundation he spoke of, he wanted to be the trusted advisor who could assure him that Leia was making sound decisions in this, she was not out of her depth – Han was, despite all of his more ribald qualities, a good man.

"I have a different perspective," Bail said quietly. "I see this with a father's eyes, and with eyes that didn't see the war – perhaps that's good, perhaps it's bad – and I appreciate your care for Leia, but I need to process this, and make up my mind, on my own. And on top of that … Leia and I have a relationship to repair."

Rieekan nodded.

"I understand – and I think it's clear you haven't completely written him off, or you wouldn't have asked that the Council and the State stay out of it; you wouldn't have removed Threkin Horm."

"Regardless of my qualms, I would never insult Leia by invoking those _revolting_ old laws," Bail said harshly. "As for Councilor Horm – his actions were heinous. Providing photos to the press – a crass and devious action, I don't care what his motives were."

Bail leaned forward and rubbed his face hard, abandoning his drink. He had a great capacity for resilience – he'd been watching the galaxy disintegrate for years, and he'd always found a way to pull through tragedy and push forward, but this was his greatest challenge yet. So much of what he'd heard from Rieekan made him feel better and worse; it did make him feel better about Solo to hear that Leia had clearly felt she could trust him concerning Vader, and the other deeply personal, abjectly horrible things that she'd endured, but it also made him wonder if she was, as he'd said aloud a few nights ago, resigning herself to him because she thought herself somehow devalued.

He shook his head – the temptation to keep drinking hit him strongly, but he refrained. He'd grown accustomed to ignoring that feeling, if only because there was a time, when Breha was so sick for so long, struggling with miscarriage after miscarriage, when he'd almost succumbed to a dangerous obsession with alcohol.

A knock at the door interrupted, and Rieekan gave a noncommittal grunt for the person to enter. Luke shuffled in, his expression serene, and perhaps even lightly amused. He cleared his throat, and both men looked at him. He nodded at Rieekan, and then inclined his head towards the Viceroy.

"Leia wanted me to tell you she's alright," he said calmly, his voice gentle and conciliatory. "She knows you're worried."

Bail looked at Luke intently, swallowing hard – he was worried. He was worried about what he'd heard, what had happened to her, about her well-being overall. His irritation at other things didn't erase that, and he was relieved to hear she had thought to reach out to him.

"She said," he paused, compressing his lips. "She said it's alright if you come by later, if you want to _see_ that she's fine," he continued. "She, uh, convinced Han not to shoot you." Luke laughed nervously. "I think she was joking. I don't think Han would shoot you."

Rieekan rolled his eyes at Luke - Luke Skywalker, incredibly impressive Jedi, hero pilot, accomplished military commander – completely tongue-tied farmboy in other settings. It was hard to believe this kind-hearted, earnest young man was the son of – Rieekan shuddered, and stopped thinking about it.

Bail gave Luke a dark look, and then turned to look pointedly at Rieekan, as if to reiterate his concerns about Han's character.

Carlist shrugged helplessly.

"Viceroy, I said he could be trusted with _Leia_ ," he said wryly. "I don't actually trust him not to punch you at least once."

Bail Organa looked at his compatriot incredulously, and Rieekan just sighed calmly, leaning forward to nudge the bottle of Arallute gin a tiny bit closer to the Viceroy – Force help this man, he really needed it.

* * *

Leia felt like her life had devolved into a soap opera over the course of the day, what with Grand Moff Luschek's dramatic actions, her father appearing at the wrong time, Generals and Jedi demanding her attention – inadvertently using the Force violently, and finding out Bail was rooting around Han behind her back.

The things she'd throw in her father's face and in Rieekan's – in _Carlist's_ face.

She shivered slightly, even though the water in her bath was steamy and hot. She put one hand delicately to her forehead, lifting her eyes and looking at Han again – he'd drawn the bath; he'd been sitting there with her since she got in, a bottle of Corellian whiskey open on the floor beside him.

He'd recounted everything Bail had said to him, word-for-word.

She was processing how she felt about it, as none of it was as – incendiary as she'd imagined.

She lowered her hand and ran her finger around the rim of the glass Han had given her. She picked it up, swirling it slowly to release the aroma of the whiskey.

"He brought up Giles?" she asked finally.

Han was telling her everything now because earlier, in the aftermath of fighting and the whole sordid morning and afternoon, he'd made her go to sleep. She'd relented only when he assured that if her father came by, he'd let him in and be civil, because despite the tension, she knew her father would be out of his mind with worry, and she didn't want to hurt him. Han had promised with a scowl, and she'd woken feeling slightly better, and more rested - and Han had made sure she ate something.

Bail had come by, just briefly, and he and Han hadn't said a single word to each other. He hadn't stayed long, and when he was gone, Han had asked her if she wanted a bubble bath.

"Who?" Han grunted.

"Giles," she said again, her voice raw. She cleared her throat softly. "Giles Durane, the martial arts instructor," she clarified. "That was his name."

"Ah," Han said. He nodded. "Yeah, when he was accusing me of being a lecherous fiend," he grumbled.

Leia smiled a little. She raised her glass to her lips and bit down thoughtfully, breathing out through her nose.

"I'm surprised he mentioned that," she murmured. "He was angrier at me than he'd ever been, when that happened. He never spoke of it after. Winter knew, and Rouge and Celly found out but...he never even told my mother."

" _What_ happened?" Han asked.

"Well," sighed Leia softly. "Nothing, truly. He took care of it. Giles was banished, the photos were destroyed, and – Giles is dead now, anyway."

A strange expression came over Han's face.

"He had him _killed_?" Han asked dryly, suddenly very wary of the old Viceroy.

Leia smiled.

"No, though I'm sure the thought crossed his mind – I'm not sure how he frightened him into submission, but Giles was killed by Imperial soldiers my first year on the Senate," she shrugged lightly. "I'm not sure why."

Han frowned, discontented by the shallow nature of her story.

"Bail said you were in love with him."

Leia looked down at her whiskey.

"At the risk of sounding fanciful, Han, I was in love with everyone when I was sixteen," she said faintly, her cheeks colouring slightly. "Or rather, the idea of being in love. I had more freedom than some Princesses, but less freedom than your average young girl, and I wanted my turn at a romance novel. Giles…was flirtatious, and I was taken with him." She paused. "And, ah, I thought it best to tell my father I was in love. People seem to forgive a lot of things done in the name of love."

Leia paused, and took drink of whiskey, letting it linger on her tongue for a moment – it was an acquired taste, the Corellian stuff; much like everything else she'd come to love from that planet.

"I spent most of my life being told how mature I was, how well I handled myself," she murmured. "The flirtation with Giles – spun out of my control faster than I could blink, but I never had any idea he'd try to blackmail me."

"With – suggestive photographs," Han said slowly.

"I wasn't naked," Leia said. She paused. "Okay. Well, I was in one of them. In a way. There were flowers over...never mind."

Han grinned a little, then hid his grin, unsure if he should be smiling. She compressed her lips primly, and then shook her head.

"I was playing a game with Giles, Han, at first. My father thought I was utterly innocent but I was testing my charms. I knew I'd need to be able to wield that sort of thing in the political arena. And of course, it helped that he was lovely and charming and attractive. I never felt like Giles was preying on me, what broke my heart was the betrayal," she said tiredly. "It disillusioned me. I swore I'd never let my head get turned again."

"And your father, he was pissed because some guy betrayed you? That's not your fault."

"He was," Leia started, hesitating. "He was angry at Giles for treating me dishonorably, with the blackmail, and he was angry at me for being careless – the key to behavior in royalty and in politics is leaving no proof of what you've been doing," she explained, "and I had pictures. It was foolish; I knew it, and standing in front of him, telling him about it," she shook her head, and whistled softly. "He was horrified at Giles, but he was horrified at me because it was the first time I'd done something risky and rebellious enough to jeopardize my career. And it wasn't, you know, for peace or justice it was just...salacious. "

Han nodded.

"And, of course, Giles was much older than me, and the age of consent on Alderaan when there's more than a two year age difference was eighteen."

"'Course he was pissed, that guy sounds like a dirty old man," Han muttered.

Leia bit down on the edge of her glass again, giving him a smug look.

"You're a dirty old man," she teased.

Han gave her a look. She tipped the whiskey into her mouth and then lowered the glass, holding it against her chest. She crossed her ankles in the soapy water, leaning her head back a bit.

"You slept with him?" Han asked.

Leia chewed on her lip for a moment.

"No," she said quietly. "Almost."

"Why not?"

"I was…afraid of getting pregnant," she confessed.

"Very practical of you, Princess. Always thinking with that head."

She giggled quietly, and looked at him through her lashes.

"Even at that age, though," she added thoughtfully, "I knew I'd lose power over him if I had sex with him. He got tired of playing games, I think. I wouldn't sleep with him in exchange for destruction of the photos, and he never expected me to go to my father when he threatened me," she broke off - her teenage insecurities about physical intimacy had held her back, but Giles Durane's quick transformation into menacing specter had fortified her defenses rather than weakened them, as he'd expected.

Leia worried her bottom lip with her teeth for a moment.

"It wasn't just that. I was _infatuated_ with Giles but knew I wasn't in _love_ with him. I…I had this idea that I'd know when it was right to sleep with someone – I don't mean morally, I mean I thought I would feel totally sure, and I never did, with Giles, so I held him off. Others, too – besides, I'd also heard that virginity could buy power and information in the Senate if used correctly." She bit her lip gently for a moment. "I kept waiting to look at the man I was with, and feel it was just right. Belaying that, deflowering the Princess of Alderaan would have been an illustrious reward for giving information to the Rebellion."

Han gave her a bemused look – the only sort of sexual history they'd gotten into had involved what happened to her on the Death Star. He'd never been quite sure why she decided to confide in him, but he was always relieved she had – otherwise, sleeping with her for the first time could have been a disaster.

"So, you felt like that, with me?" Han drawled. "What was it? My eyes?" He ran his hand through his hair. "My hair?"

"Your mouth."

"Well, I always did say I was good with my mouth."

"No, I mean I decided it would shut you up if I slept with you."

Han glared at her again, and she leaned her head back, her heart racing – his ego didn't need to be told it was his eyes, hair, mouth – hands, feet, nose, voice, everything about him. Everything about him that convinced her it was absolutely right, everything about him that had made her feel so safe she hadn't thought about the Death Star at all.

She lowered her lashes, drawing her knees up. She rested her glass on the tops of them, watching soap bubbles and drops of water cascade down the glass.

"I used to wish I had slept with Giles, sometimes," she murmured, her voice catching.

"Why?" Han asked.

"I," she started hoarsely. "I always thought if I had, what happened on the Death Star wouldn't have been so devastating."

Han, hating to think of it, hating to think that she thought that way, poured another dram of whiskey and shook his head as he knocked it back, lowering his arm slowly. He rested his glass on the edge of the bathtub.

"I don't think that would have changed how bad it was for you, Leia," he said.

"I don't mean physically," she said in a hushed tone.

"I know," he agreed firmly.

He still didn't think it would have mattered. Whether she had any experience or not, sexual assault was going to overshadow the good for a long time, and it had for her.

She clinked her nail softly against her glass. She'd told herself often that she'd have been able to cope with it so much easier if it hadn't been her initial experience with that kind of sexual activity. She'd told herself it never would have been _that_ bad if Tarkin hadn't ripped away her chance to decide for herself, if he hadn't completely poisoned a right of passage that should have been hers and hers alone. But she knew she was kidding herself.

"I know," she murmured back at him, acquiescing, her shoulders falling.

She took a drink of whiskey, and pressed the glass to her jaw.

"I'm glad it's only been you, Han," she murmured.

She closed her eyes a moment, leaning her head forward heavily – she didn't talk about it with Han very much, but it had always been a source of relief being around him, knowing that he was aware. Her trust in Han, and Han's continued willingness to back off on the way to Bespin, no matter how much it frustrated him, had ensured sleeping with him had never been anything other than wonderful.

She didn't care that he'd been with other women, she wasn't _puritanical,_ she was just reserved. Winter had always teased her about it.

 _"It doesn't have to be_ love, _Leia, you can just_ like _and trust the man,"_ Winter had insisted, her head on the pillow next to Leia's in Aldera, whispering about her own latest escapade. " _Not Giles. But Lynce Antilles..."_

Leia had demurred and demurred, though, never once judging Winter, never once caring about any sort of religious code, only caring about her personal desire on the matter, of the firm opinion that she could easily use the hint of sex, the promise of sex, for power and prestige, but the actual act was sacred to her.

 _"I'm not wired like that, Winter,"_ she said. _"I want to be in love, real love. It's too personal otherwise. It's a privilege I'm not interested in bestowing lightly."_

 _"You'll die a virgin waiting for a fairytale romance,"_ Winter had warned, giggling.

 _"I won't know what I'm missing then, will I?"_

 _"You're missing - "_

 _"Oh, hush, I can do_ that _myself."_

Winter had buried her face in a pillow, muffling loud laughter.

 _"You let Giles take intimate photos of you! That's not personal?"_

 _"The human body is art. I know what I'm doing with Giles."_

 _"The rest of the galaxy isn't Alderaan,"_ Winter had pleaded ominously, _"if those photos get out on Coruscant or Naboo or...you'll be ruined."_

Leia bit her lip lightly, lost in memories - youthful conversations like that seemed so distant, so absurd. She'd been lost in dreams of how it would be when she found the right man, and then Tarkin had sent a stranger into her cell to rip her romantic fantasies to shreds and scatter them, leaving her disillusioned, petrified, a prisoner in her own body. She knew, she _knew,_ a thousand times over that rape and sex were not synonymous, and when she woke up from those nightmares she had a mantra - _Han's the only person you chose, only Han, they didn't take anything, you aren't less of a woman_ \- but she'd still never been able to have it the way she wanted it, and though she knew Han was right, that it would have been brutal no matter what, her ideas about physical intimacy had been so tied to pain for so long after the Death Star, it was hard not to tell herself that if she'd had previous experience, she could have gotten over it easier.

"Leia," Han began hesitantly, his voice breaking through gruffly, carefully.

She looked over at him silently, her eyes softening. He still hesitated, and then tilted his head.

"You went to your father, looked him in the eye, and told him you had a sex scandal - "

"It wasn't a _sex_ scandal," she muttered.

Han laughed.

"Was _too,"_ he retorted - actual consummation or not, naked photographs were definitely under the sex scandal umbrella. Leia rolled her eyes at him, tapping her nail against her glass again. He paused, and shook his head. "That took guts, you know. Most sixteen-year-old girls I knew ... woulda just given in to the blackmail, rather than do that."

Leia flicked her eyes away from him without saying anything, because she knew where he was going with this. She didn't interrupt him or preempt him, because she thought he had a right to ask and, after a moment of considering whether it was insensitive to bring it up, he _did_ ask:

"If you could tell him about this Giles bastard, why couldn't you tell him about us, up front?"

Leia peered down at her whiskey, her words catching in her throat for a moment. She really hadn't been hiding Han from her father, but she had been struggling with how to broach the subject - and it had gotten so out of hand, because of her hesitation. She searched for an answer, and the only one that came to her made her feel pathetic.

"I needed him to protect me from Giles," she said shakily, compressing her lips before going on: "I have to fight him for you."

She didn't want to fight him. She would, she absolutely would, but she didn't want to. She knew it would be difficult to face his disapproval or - whatever he reacted with, and she already had reason to be at odds with him. She hadn't wanted another. Han nodded, shrugging his shoulders as if he accepted that - he had to accept it; clearly, the Viceroy was on the defensive about his daughter's lover. Han hadn't wanted to contribute to Leia's stress by pushing her, but he did think she'd have been better off just clubbing him over the head with this information right off the bat.

Leia took a reflective sip of her drink, clearing her throat very softly. She rested her head on her knees again, pushing the cool glass against her temple, and took a deep breath.

"Han," she began, lifting her head. "I don't want to see a therapist," she started.

"I don't want to fight again," he interrupted bluntly. "I'm not gonna make you do anything—"

"Listen to me," she broke in softly.

When she had his attention, she licked her lips, and went on.

"I don't feel like I need to be fixed anymore. I haven't, for a long time," she said. "I can't always control how I react to things – like Vader," she paused carefully, "triggers," she murmured, "but a therapist – would be another person who tries to put me back the way I was. Who walks on eggshells and offers – generic platitudes," she explained.

She lowered her knees, shifting towards him. She rested her glass on the edge and leaned over, her arm hanging over towards him.

"You're the only person who never treated me like I was breakable, or like I was untouchable. You didn't give me any more respect than you'd afford the average person standing next to you, and that meant so much to me. It would have meant something to me even on Alderaan, where so few people could tell me how they really felt. It was refreshing and most of the time, it was infuriating," she said, "but you even kept treating me like that, like I was normal, after I told you what happened. You still flirted with me, and picked fights with me. That's what I needed. When you touch me, I feel like no one has ever hurt me."

She held his gaze for a moment.

"Do you understand?" she asked softly. "I'm never going to be exactly how I was, but that's never mattered to you because you never thought I'd changed for the worst."

"I didn't know you before."

"You wouldn't have cared," she said emphatically. "Mon Mothma, Dodonna – they think it's all a hopeless disaster, that I was disillusioned and hardened and became more of a warrior than a delicate flower, but you'd just see that as life. And what happened to me was terrible, but it was a war crime. It wasn't personal. Tarkin wanted me to think it was personal, and it's a," she paused, catching her breath, "devastatingly personal violation, but it wasn't unique to me. It was sport for him. When we briefed Alliance females on missions, we told them if they were captured, to expect it."

She fell silent, her lips parted intently, while she watched him take in her words. She swallowed hard again.

"Listening to Luschek's trial – was difficult," she said hoarsely, "he kept turning things around. He said – that I was a murderess; that millions died on Alderaan because I was too haughty to bow down – that I killed them. I should be on trial."

Han's jaw tightened.

"What he said to the press – he said I wasn't so high and mighty when Tarkin had me on my knees," she quoted shakily.

"He said _what_?" Han growled – his knuckles turned white on the glass he was gripping. If he could find a way to get into that bastard's cell and rip his spine out through his throat –

Leia's lips trembled.

"The press edited it. They censored it. Because it's too vulgar to hear - but why shouldn't they broadcast it? Why shouldn't the whole galaxy know that the Empire's regime was so brutal that no one was safe? I was part of the elite, and I was violated. I didn't do anything wrong," she said, "and I didn't deserve it."

She took a deep breath.

"The worst part is finding out Tarkin shared stories."

Han set his glass on the floor and shifted forward, crawling towards her. He reached out and put his hand on her forehead, pushing it back through her hair – she'd braided it up loosely on her head, keeping it out of the water.

"You don't owe the world your story, Leia," he said earnestly. He pressed his forehead gently to hers. "Of course you didn't deserve it."

"I know," she said softly, "but I've had this shadow in my mind that tells me I'm powerless if anyone finds out I was treated like that. That I lose my strength," she bit her lip a moment, "and I'd never think that of any other woman it happened to, so I've got to stop thinking it of myself."

She swallowed hard.

"That's why I told Father," she admitted, her voice quieting even more. He could barely hear her speaking. "And – and Carlist, but he suspected. He sat with me for days on Yavin. He just sat there, and neither of us could speak about anything that had happened."

She credited Rieekan with giving her the strength to get out of bed in those days, and she ought to tell him that, sometime. In the medical wards of Yavin the High Command had kept her isolated and alone, but Rieekan had been there with silent, commiserative grief over Alderaan, Rieekan had the audacity to put his hand on her forehead and without saying a word, assure her she would be alright, assure her that no matter what unspeakable things had happened, there were still good people and gentle touches in the world.

Han nodded, looking at her closely. After a moment, he shifted and sat down on the floor again, this time reaching over to unpin the long, twisted braid from the top of her head. He started to unbraid it gently, his fingers moving through any knots, and Leia titled her head towards him, closing her eyes.

"I think I shocked him," she said shakily.

"Hmmm," Han agreed – he imagined Bail Organa, if he was half as angry as Han had been to find out, was trying to find a way to resurrect the dead so he could murder them all over again.

"Han, I told Carlist about Vader."

Han grunted.

"Yeah, I was wondering when you were going to remember you did that," he said, his eyes still on her hair as he unbraided it.

She took a deep breath, tipping the rest of her whiskey into her mouth.

"I can't believe I – he'll think – "

"Rieekan judges people on who they are," Han interrupted matter-of-factly. "You know that."

"I don't know why I said it."

Han looked up at her.

"You need answers," he said, "and you want people to tell you they still think highly of you."

"I don't need – flattery –"

"Leia, you want to hear that people still trust you," Han said, moving his hands up her hair, unbraiding the rest of it. "You may not realize it, but that's what you want. 'Cause you sit around thinking everyone's going to think you're Lady Vader, and maybe some assholes out there will saddle you with the sins of your father, but you can't help it," he said stubbornly.

He paused, his hands near her face, gently loosening the last of the braid. His fingers moved and brushed her jaw affectionately.

"I don't know what fucked up thing happened to Vader to turn him dark," he said, a bit awkwardly – he wasn't well-versed in the Force, or any sort of 'dark side' concepts Luke was always droning on about, "but you had your planet destroyed, and you had people treat you like a piece of meat – and the worst thing you've done is – fling a paperweight across the room."

He paused, his jaw tightening, and leaned over, touching her chin. He held her gaze.

"I'll personally kick the ass of anyone who suggests you should be compared to him."

She leaned over and kissed him hard, her glass knocking against his shoulder as she started to wrap her arm around his neck. He reached up and took it, setting it on the floor, and kissed her back reassuringly, even if she did splash water all over him.

Resting his forehead against hers, he smiled, and stroked her shoulder, flicking his eyes to her mass of hair.

"You want me to brush this?" he asked. "You want another drink?"

She ran her thumb along his jaw and kissed him again, nodding lightly. He extricated himself, and placed the bottle and her glass on the edge of the tub while he stood and rummaged around for a hairbrush. He turned towards her, and she made a noise of protest.

"That's Chewie's."

Han looked down at it, dumbfounded.

"Why's it in our bathroom?"

"I accidentally took his, and he has mine."

Han gave her a look.

"I can just pick his hair out of it – "

"No, get my spare. It's in the closet. Silver handle."

Han rolled his eyes, left, and came back with the brush in question, resuming his place, and starting the lengthy process of smoothing out the knots in her hair. It was something he'd taken to doing on occasion, after he'd helped her with it once, and she'd told him she found it incredibly erotic.

Leia closed her eyes again, relaxing back into the water, holding her glass against her chest again – how he could stand being around her when she'd lashed out at him like she had earlier, she didn't know, but every time he stubbornly stuck around and fought with her instead of giving up, she loved him more.

She wished – there was a way to right things with her father, but she didn't know where to start, and she didn't know what to do first—deal with the Vader issue, because Luke was suffering silently, waiting for her to be ready, waiting for it to be time, or deal with the Han issue – because they seemed to be conflicting and creating a wall she was keeping herself behind.

It was as contentious and stressful as she'd imagined it would be, and parts of her were fine with that, because at least she had her father back – and it would get better, she assumed – but parts of her longed for how peaceful things had been before all this how she'd been coming in to her own in the world without Alderaan and everything she'd known.

"What's on your mind, Sweetheart?"

"Corellia," she said promptly, her eyes still closed, her chest rising and falling softly. "That resort, after Endor," she murmured, lashes fluttering. "You, asking me to marry you. On impulse. Like everything else you do." She laughed quietly.

He tugged on her hair gently with the brush.

"You still want to marry me, Princess?"

She nodded, breathing out slowly.

"I should have married you then, right at that moment. Dragged you to a courthouse," she whispered. "You could have dropped me off back here, Leia Solo, consequences be damned."

Then there'd be not even the slightest question of her father thinking he could question what this was.

She felt him pause with the brush, and move forward, resting his arms on the edge of the bath. He gave her a lopsided smile, but there was a hesitant light in his eyes, as if he were mulling over something. She pursed her lips, silently asking him to share, and he scratched his chin.

"I want to run something by you," he revealed carefully – it was something that had been weighing on his mind since his conversation with Bail, since their fight, since he'd watched her sleep this afternoon, standing guard over her just in case.

She opened her eyes slightly, looking at him with mild curiosity.

"You sound like you're about to ask me for a pet," she remarked.

Han gave her a lopsided smile.

"What if I am?"

"You may have some sort of fish," she allowed.

He made a face – that wasn't even something you could really call a pet. He shook his head a little, looking at her silently a moment before clearing his throat. He didn't know how well this was going to go over, but more and more he was feeling like it was the right thing to do.

"Your dad said somethin' to me this morning that got me thinking," he began.

"Which part?" she murmured, recalling what Han had repeated to her about their conversation.

"That he needs some time, and some space, to smooth things out. To get on track with you," he said gruffly. He hesitated for a moment. "Makes sense. Everything's moving too fast for him. Like it was for you, when we first saw the signal, and no one could talk to you about it."

Leia swallowed, pulling away a little. She opened her eyes fully, watching him intently.

"You've got to get the air clear with 'im about this Vader stuff, too, before you can move forward, right?"

She took inclined her head.

"I think – yes, I think that's…straining me," she agreed.

"And I'm not helpin'," Han said grudgingly.

She pursed her lips warily.

"I mean I – look, I didn't rip his head off this mornin', but I did this afternoon. He thinks I'm a problem and I think he is and you've got all your other work stuff to deal with without us having a measuring contest every five minutes."

Leia wrinkled her nose.

"Why did you have to put it _that_ way?" she muttered.

Han tilted his head.

"I was thinkin' of heading to Kashyyyk for a few days. Givin' Chewie the chance to see Malla and the kid," he said slowly. "'M not runnin' off, I swear. I thought…hell, maybe you need some time to just readjust to him, without me around making it impossible – and I will, 'cause if he keeps runnin' his mouth like he knows you or knows what I'm about, I'm gonna put my fist in it."

Leia compressed her lips quietly, looking down at her whiskey. Her nostrils flared, and she was silent – silent for too long.

"Leia?" he promoted. "You trust me, right? I'm not runnin' off."

"I trust you," she said gently.

She frowned, more at herself – because she saw his point, and honestly, she thought he was right. Han was a hothead, and he had already decided Bail was irritating; Bail was struggling to come to terms with a new world, and Han was not someone he'd likely have taken to right away, anyhow. No one really took to Han immediately – Leia certainly hadn't.

It wasn't just about having time to solely focus on her father, without having to mediate, or worry about both Bail and Han separately; she really did need to make sure she was okay without Han. Not without him in a sense of having him gone, but she wanted to moderate her dependency. She'd done it once before; she knew she could live without him – she had when she'd thought they'd never get him back from Jabba, but she understood the value of being able to function without him. She'd end up exhausting him if she kept losing it like she had this morning.

She took a deep breath, finished her drink, and set it aside, nodding her head. She reached up to tuck some hair behind her head, nodding slowly.

"That could work," she said. "Maybe – let's just sleep on it, Han," she said, tilting her head at him. "I don't want you to feel like you have to go away."

"I don't," he said. "I won't go if you need me here."

She nodded again – he really might be onto something, though. Her father had been right, when he said – in that first fight after the press conference – that they were having two different conversations, when it came to Vader, and to Han. Han – was going to be around for the entire foreseeable future, so it was Vader that needed to be touched on first.

Leia reached over and tugged at the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards her. She drew her knees up again, sighing.

"So many theatrics today," she murmured.

"I'm sorry about the Tribunals," Han said gruffly, his jaw tightening momentarily. He reached over and stuck his hand in the warm water, running it over her knees.

"Why do you always apologize to me for things that aren't your fault?" she asked lightly, twitching her nose at him sweetly.

He smiled, and she went on:

"Why don't you ever apologize for things that _are_ your fault?" She licked her lips.

"'Cause I never do anything wrong," he retorted.

"Hmm," she hummed, laughing under her breath.

She pulled him closer to her and pressed her lips to his again – she may have picked a fight with him when he showed up earlier, but she was glad he'd been there; she was glad he knew she'd want him, even if she didn't say it.

"Han," she mumbled against his lips. She trailed her lips up his jaw, pressing a soft kiss to his ear. His fingers trailed lazily over her knee, venturing between her legs at a leisurely pace. She pulled back for just a moment, catching his eye. Her palm moved down his neck soothingly. "I promise I have no intention of ever killing myself," she assured him, still a little shaken by the volatility of his fear earlier.

She wouldn't ever succumb to that. She couldn't fault people who did, because she couldn't fathom what it was like to feel so utterly desperate and sad that death was better than life, but she had never felt that darkness grip at her; she had only ever wanted to fight back; to prove that injustice and evil were not going to put her in her grave and claim victory over her – and if they hadn't been able to defeat her, she wasn't going to give in at her own hand. She was going to live and she was going to live better than everyone who had ever tried to bring her down.

He nodded, pausing a moment to study her expression, reading her sincerity.

"I do have a one question, Captain Solo," she said, flicking her lashes demurely.

"What's that, Princess?"

"Why in the stars are you still wearing all of your clothes?"

Han grinned at her, delighted, and started to shrug off his vest – but not before she reached for him and tugged him forward playfully, using all of her strength to pull him half into the water with her. He swore in protest, perfumed, bubble water splashing up over his shoulders and face. He braced his hand on the bottom of the bath to keep her from toppling him in, and then shook his hair, giving her a menacing glare.

She laughed outright, charmed by the sight of him, eager to spend the rest of the night washing off the day, and sleeping off the stress, and wake fresh tomorrow – to move forward with what to do, because it had all been handled so indelicately so far.

Han struggled for a moment to get into a comfortable position, and then leaned back, kneeling next to the tub. He smirked at her, and she considered him for a moment, waiting for him to get undressed – but that's not what he did. He ran his hand through his hair once, smirked again, and then got up, unceremoniously getting into the bubble bath with her – vest, bloodstripes, and all.

"Han!" she squealed, biting back laugher.

She grasped his hips, spreading her legs and lifting her knees to give him room. She tried to protest, but she was only able to giggle, and she figured that would at least convince him she meant it when she said she was all right – it was just a bad day, but she was all right.

Her arms went around his neck and one of his hand slid down her thigh, wandering until it found its mark and she tilted her head back with a gasp. He grinned smugly, and lowered his mouth to her neck.

"Does it feel just right, Sweetheart?" he asked huskily.

She slid her fingers into his hair, and nodded – it always did, with him.

* * *

 _look, at the risk of fangirling over my own fic...they love each other ENTIRELY too much._

 _so, yeah, to answer someone's review question: you do get Leia's side of the Giles affair, and it's markedly different from Bail's. but it's one of those things where, you know, teenagers think they have things under control, and adults are like "Do you have any idea how wrong you are?" I know personally I thought I knew everything when I was 16 and now I look back and think 'God my mother was so right. I didn't know shit.'_

 _-alexandra_


	18. Seventeen

_a/n: I have to say I really, really enjoy Mon Mothma + Leia's conversation later in this chapter. also - I've been envisioning Aunt Rouge as sort of Maggie Smith/Violet Crawley from 'Downton Abbey,' but someone recently compared her to Aunt Pitty from Gone with the Wind and GWTW is my favorite novel so ... if you've read it, have fun with that image._

 _onward!_

* * *

 ** _Seventeen_**

* * *

Bail Organa had yet to decide if his sister's constant, worried chatter was irritating him, so he refrained from asking her to silence herself. Rouge had always been chatty – not a gossip, as Celly had been, and not a lecturer, like Tia had been, but just talkative in general. She was always expressing her opinion, stating curiosities, or just generally making observations – strangely, despite her tendency to blather on incessantly, Rouge was one of the best secret-keepers Bail had ever known, which was why she along among his sisters had known Leia was deeply involved in the Rebel Alliance, and why she had chosen to go on Bail's mysterious mission while Celly and Tia stayed behind with Breha.

It was only now that Bail so desperately wished he'd had the foresight to take them with him – to take as many Alderaanians as he could – but then so many had died as they languished on the ship, and Alderaan needed a ruler there if the other was going to be gone.

 _"I don't think she's dead. Go, B. Go get her. I want my daughter back._ _Tell them you'll give them the Queen of Alderaan in her place. Go get her!"_

Thinking of his late wife, Bail closed his eyes a moment, her strong, saintly voice echoing in his mind. The holovision he was watching seemed louder when his vision was obscured, but he summoned an image of Breha's kind, beautiful face. He missed her violently, and the torrent of grief seemed to hit him harder and harder with every day that passed in this New Republic. When they were stranded, he'd had some way of living in two realities, of convincing himself that the unthinkable hadn't really happened –

"Why in the name of the Goddess is she dressed like that?"

Rouge's ringing, exasperated voice called him back to the present, and he opened his eyes, fixated on the news again – it was the evening recap of the day, and both he and Rouge were watching it carefully. They had little to do, these days, besides absorb all the news they could get as if it were oxygen itself – there was so much to catch up on.

Bail blinked, looking at the image of his daughter closely. The clip was from earlier in the day. She stood on the courthouse steps, giving remarks on one of the trials that had taken place today – the elegant green gown she'd worn yesterday was gone; today she was in military fatigues, complete with her hair braided austerely in a crown on her head. He was surprised at how well the uniform fit her, at how at home she seemed to be in it, but he was not surprised at the change in attire.

"I would think because of what happened yesterday," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Rouge prompted. "The – those things said by that disgrace of a Grand Moff?"

Bail inclined his head – Rouge had managed to hear the full quote, but dismissed the comment as an attempt to bait or scandalize the Princess. Bail, unable to bring himself to abuse Rouge's sensibilities, had not repeated what Leia told him.

"What does that man have to do with her wardrobe?"

Bail was quiet a moment.

"The military garb projects a different image," he said logically. "She's not presenting herself as a diplomat or an aloof aristocrat; she's reminding them that she was a soldier." He paused, and turned, looking at Rouge thoughtfully a moment. "She's wearing armor."

Rouge sighed.

"Oh, Bail, you're being philosophical."

Bail shrugged. It sure looked like armor to him – and unlike Rouge, he wasn't bothered to see her downplay her femininity. On the contrary, he was proud – awestruck, even – that she was standing there in front of these courts and crowds again, despite what had happened yesterday, despite how withdrawn and worn she'd looked last night.

The newscaster commenting on the day leaned forward conversationally, alien yellow horns glinting on camera.

" _Her highness had little to say in regards to yesterday's debacle, and even less to say on Han Solo, who was rumored to have had a private meeting with Viceroy Organa just yesterday – "_

"Did you?" Rouge asked, putting her hand to her chest. "Bail – "

"Sshhh," Bail shushed. "I'm listening."

"— _when asked how her father was handling her affair, Princess Leia deflected the question – she did draw a laugh, though, when asked why Han Solo hasn't actually been seen since before his meeting with the Viceroy – "_

The screen split, showed the newscaster, and Leia, a legal authority named Lis Kamora by her side.

" _Do you think you should be worried, Princess, that General Solo has disappeared following meeting with your father?"_

" _I think I should be worried about a reporter who thinks not seeing a man for a single day is cause for mass hysteria."_

" _Where is Han today, Your Highness?"_

" _How should I know? I don't keep a leash on him."_

" _And of course, with that, Princess Leia drew the conversation back,"_ the newscaster said, her laugh ringing out wryly through the holovision's speakers. _"She's always quite cagey about him, but do forgive us, Princess, we can hardly resist asking…"_

"Appalling," Rouge murmured, touching her lips, shaking her head. "She really needs to come to her senses."

Bail let the news fade into the background, turning his head at the sound of the door chimes sounding, soft and musical.

"Are we expecting anyone?" Rouge asked.

Bail sat forward, lifting his brows mildly.

"Perhaps it's the authorities, coming to question me concerning the disappearance of Han Solo," he said, deadpan.

Rouge laughed shortly.

"As if you'd leave a trace, if you'd truly done something horrid to him."

Bail smiled tightly, and got up, straightening his tunic. He heard Rouge lower the volume on the holovision as he walked to the door of the apartment – the luxurious royal quarters in the Embassy had been given to him. It was almost like living in a tomb, as it had been abandoned for years, and upon the retaking of Coruscant, Leia had apparently chosen to leave the residence of the Embassy preserved the way it was. He opened the door with only a mild curiosity as to who it might be – he had frequent visitors, and he was frequently checked up on.

"Leia," he said, lifting his brows.

He was taken aback at that – the bitter taste of his last encounter with her, his last two really, had left him with the opinion that Leia wanted him at arm's length, regardless of whether or not she had allowed him to stop by last night.

His brief visit to really assure himself she was all right had been one of the most awkward moments of his life, and he was a seasoned diplomat who had run into countless strange and mortifying situations in his endless collisions with diverse cultures. Still, none of those had prepared him for having a superficial conversation with his own daughter while her – _lover_ – was just out of sight in the kitchen, pointedly and loudly banging things around to convey his discontent.

Leia compressed her lips.

"Ah, so you do recognize your daughter in me," she quipped.

Bail's brows fell slightly, and he smiled – he hoped it was a warm smile. He stepped aside, gesturing her in. She'd changed since leaving the courts, since her day was ended; the military fatigues were gone, and in their place was a very simple, pale lilac tunic and white boots made out some sort of tanned animal skin.

The Viceroy shut the door behind her, and she took a few steps in, pausing as Rouge poked her head around the corner. Her expression brightened, though she looked suspicious as she stepped out and held her hand out to Leia.

"Darling, you should have told us you were coming; we'd have tea ready!" she said, taking Leia's fingers and squeezing them. "This dress is divine – a far cry from that getup you had on earlier; you looked quite like you were going into battle!" Rouge remarked with a laugh.

Leia smiled a little, immediately wary knowing that they had been keeping up with the news of the day. Though she couldn't be surprised – there was so little for them to do, and even less for Rouge than for her father.

"Aunt Rouge, these days, I'm always going into battle," she said pleasantly, holding her aunt's gaze with all of the ferocity she kept out of her tone.

Rouge squeezed her hand, looking at her somewhat quizzically.

"Well, it's a lovely dress all the same. Lashaa silk? No, No, Dramassian. Dramassian," she clucked – Rouge had always had a very keen eye for designer fabrics, and silks were her specialty.

"Dramassian," Leia agreed. "I no longer have a taste for Lashaa silk," she said.

"Leia, it's the finest!" Rouge protested, her dark eyes somewhat comically stricken over the declaration – Leia didn't begrudge her that; Rouge was desperate to hang on to some of what had made her whole in her old life, and that was a need Leia understood well.

Still –

"I'm afraid I had a rather unfortunate experience with it," she said vaguely.

Rouge looked sympathetic.

"It does tear rather easily, I suppose," she relented. "Too light, often see-through."

"Yes, impractical," Leia agreed – in fact, she found Lashaa silk to be so exquisite it was rather vulgar, an opinion she hadn't developed until it was brushing against her legs while she pulled a chain tighter and tighter around Jabba the Hutt's neck.

She hadn't touched the material since Han had ripped the purple swaths of fabrics into shreds and incinerated them, with a look in his eye that said he regretted Jabba's death only because he hadn't gotten to kill him personally.

"If I may interrupt," Bail said, barely able to resist rolling his eyes at his sister, "I highly doubt Leia made her way here to discuss silks."

"You never know, brother, she's full of surprises these days," Rouge returned archly.

Leia compressed her lips in a thin smile, and it was genuine, but guarded – Rouge's words reminded her of the critiques the royal aunts had always squawked at her on Alderaan, and it felt comforting, somehow.

Bail inclined his head, and gestured, hurrying them back into the sitting area. He gestured for Leia to sit – the quarters were familiar to them both, and yet they felt strange; strange like everything else these days.

Leia took a seat, looking around with sad fondness – she had only used these quarters for a few weeks when she was a Senator, before deciding she'd rather have her own apartment, in a younger, more bustling part of town. She had been hailed as generous and sweet when she ordered the Alderaanian Ambassador to take up the royal quarters instead, but she'd really just been attempting to find somewhere she'd be less watched while she ingratiated herself into the Rebellion. When Alderaan's last Ambassador had been sent back to Aldera by the Empire as a way to attempt to weaken Leia, the residence had been closed up – the dust on the chandelier was still thick, and it was clear both Bail and Rouge were living here in some sort of limbo, perhaps still unable to believe it was real.

"Have you eaten?" Bail asked. "We haven't – I could order something – "

Leia lifted her shoulders slightly.

"It's early for dinner – for me," she said. She'd come to his apartment nearly right after the day ended, taking time only to change, opting for a softer look. "I've – I'll have dinner with Han."

Bail nodded.

"Of course," he said, somewhat stiffly.

He closed his lips in a grimace – not necessarily at the thought of the other man, but at how formal and uncomfortable this conversation felt, how it had all felt since his return – he knew now the reasons simmering beneath the surface had everything to do with Vader, and what she inevitably had been through, and he assumed she held him responsible.

He – he held himself responsible –

"Tea, then – hot or cold?" Rouge offered. "Or kaffe?"

Leia looked at Rouge with guarded eyes, and then feigned hesitancy – at least, Bail immediately recognized it as a feint; Rouge had never been good at picking up on Leia's tricks. Bail had learned to outwit her when she was six years old, even though he'd gotten slower at it in his old age as she'd gotten older.

"Nothing caffeinated, Rouge, and to be honest between feeling ill in the mornings and being unsure what's going to upset my nose, I'll turn down the tea as well."

Rouge stared at her, her cheeks colouring. She gave her an absolutely stricken look, and looked to her brother, utterly wordless for a moment.

"Leia," she said, her voice hushed, "you can't possibly – are you – heavens,"

Leia looked at her for a moment, and then, her lips quirking up only slightly, she shook her head.

"Kaffe," she chose. "It was always fun to play jokes on you," she noted lightly.

Bail shook his head, turning to Rouge with a grin.

"Oh," hissed Rouge, reaching out to swat Leia's shoulder. "You – oh, you and Breha, your insane senses of humor," she turned on her heel, stalking off, mumbling to herself. "Inherited that _directly_ from your mother…"

Bail watched his sister for a moment, bemused, and then turned his head, lifting one eyebrow.

"You should go easy on her, you know," he advised, a bit wryly. "She's taking the smuggler much worse than I am."

"Then I've just at least reminded her that it could be worse – at least I'm not laid up with a bastard."

Her father looked a bit strained at the looseness of the comment, and he sighed; Leia gave him a mildly reprimanding look.

"She's taking it worse?" she asked, skeptically. "I've not seen Aunt Rouge skulking around the _Falcon's_ hanger, nor picking fights with Han."

Bail tightened his jaw.

"Well, perhaps we're taking it different ways," he retorted. "Rouge is certainly more taken with his _looks_ than I am."

"Bail, I will come in there and smite you around the ears," Rouge snapped from the kitchen area, sounding outraged and a bit sheepish.

Leia looked surprised, and shook her head slightly, her eyes remaining on her father. Considering what Winter had relayed to her concerning Rouge's comments about Han's dashing looks, it seemed her aunt was experiencing some sort of dignified outraged that Leia was forgetting her station _and_ having the nerve to do so in a way that slightly resembled the scandalous day time soaps Rouge had once surreptitiously fawned over.

"I thought beginning with a joke would lighten the mood," Leia said. "A diplomatic trick."

"I'm sorry it had to be used on me," Bail said, sincerely. He shifted. "May I – I was not _skulking_. Nor did I pick a fight."

Leia smiled more openly, leaning back. She put her elbow on the back of the sofa and nodded, her eyes on her father thoughtfully.

"I know," she said finally. "Han repeated the entire scene to me."

"Did he? Now why don't I feel confident I was represented well?"

"Because you're quite convinced that Han is a villainous fiend who's turned me inside out and robbed me of my ability to think for myself," she answered sharply.

Bail paused carefully.

"Villainous is a strong word."

"Fiend isn't?"

Bail frowned.

"Do you want to hear a litany of alternative adjectives and nouns?" he asked.

"No, I don't, Father," Leia answered, her jaw softening somewhat.

"Winter once regaled Rouge with the finer differences between a smuggler and a thief," Bail went on cleverly.

"As she should, the nuances are rarely appreciated," Leia retorted, deadpan. She pushed her index finger against her temple and, after a moment, smiled again, though somewhat heavily.

"Where has your General Solo been today?" Bail asked, after a moment of protracted silence in which Rouge's kaffe brewing became unbearably loud. "The press seems to think I have killed him."

"No, I believe they think you _hired_ someone to kill him – which, frankly, is not something that Han is altogether unused to happening," Leia said dryly. She paused, and winced a little. "Would you mind just calling him 'Han'?" she requested – _'your General'_ – it hit her somewhat indecently, almost made it sound like she was – keeping him on retainer for personal pleasure.

Bail nodded thoughtfully, and compressed his lips, looking over as Rouge came in with a tray – a kaffe decanter, three mugs, and the usual additives: sugars, honeys, a few teaspoons. Watching her a moment, Bail turned back to Leia, and she was studying him intently, her lips pursed. She swallowed when he caught her, and cleared her throat.

"I was thinking," she began, surprising herself, "that sitting here, talking to you after a long day, things seem almost normal again – just on the edge of normal."

Rouge looked up as she sat the tray down, her eyes on her brother. Bail looked heavy, sorrowful – he knew to what she referred; those days when she'd been home from school, and later, home from the Senate, and she'd come into his office and curl up in an armchair near his desk, barefoot and in pajamas, to recount her day, discuss her plans and her visions for the future. She sat looking at him now, and he saw the desire to have his respect glittering in her eyes for a moment before she seemed to banish it to the back of her mind, and she turned, reaching for the decanter to fix herself some kaffe.

"As you've asked," she said, her voice steady as she stirred only a miniscule amount of Iridonian honey into her black kaffe. "Han is at military headquarters taking temporary leave."

She leaned back as Rouge was sitting down in an armchair, her face curious, her ears perked. Leia perched on the edge of the couch, cradling her mug in her hands, and resting it tensely on her knees. She inclined her head at her father and lifted a brow somewhat wryly.

"It would appear you have successfully chased off my boyfriend."

The tone of her voice was bone-dry and laced with an irreverent sort of jest. He could tell she wasn't being accusatory, and he could tell she wasn't here in anger, but he wasn't sure if she was genuinely making a joke, or if she sought to broach a serious conversation – the thing was, he'd seen this demeanor before, it had just never been turned on him.

Leia had always had a particular knack for remarking on things in a way that allowed her to flout Grand Moffs and military governors because they were never quite sure if she'd seriously said whatever it was she'd said. She also had an unnerving talent for holding eye contact in quite the soul-searching manner and, Bail noted grudgingly, she only seemed to have gotten better with that tactic.

"Chased him off?" Rouge asked earnestly. She clasped her hands on her lap, pressing them between her knees. "You did do something to him, Bail?" she asked.

Leia glanced at her, unimpressed with the slight hope that seemed to be present in her aunt's voice. Bail, at least, had a few negative interactions with Han under his belt; Rouge had never formally met him beyond her rescue, so her attitude nettled Leia slightly more.

"I did nothing to that man," Bail said sharply. "In fact, Leia, if he's told you – "

Leia sighed, shaking her head. She ran her thumb in circles on her mug for a moment, looking down at the black liquid, and then tilted her head.

"I'm confident Han relayed your conversation to me accurately," she said. She paused. "Although he did say you complimented his ship, which I found hard to believe."

"I did compliment his ship," Bail muttered darkly. "If it really is the ship that made the difference at Yavin and Endor – "

"You sound skeptical," Leia remarked.

"Have you _seen_ that rickety old thing?"

"I love that rickety old thing," Leia retorted, suddenly fiercely protective of the _Falcon_ and everything it meant to Han, and everything it had done for her.

Bail looked at her mildly, silent for a moment.

"Are we still talking about the ship?" he asked wearily.

Leia raised her brows and took a sip of her kaffe.

"Han is not a rickety old thing," she said simply, ignoring the somewhat superior sniff Rouge gave at her words.

Leia inhaled the scent of kaffe and shifted, compressing her lips. She took a deep breath after a moment, and met her father's eyes again. Before she could speak, he cleared his throat, and folded his arms.

"Why is it that General Solo is taking leave?" he asked edgily.

Leia bit her bottom lip for a moment, reading the resentment in her father's voice – he thought he was being accused of causing it, and he was already deciding Han was weak, or unreliable – something like that. She ignored his tone, and his posture, and answered calmly.

"He's going to Kashyyyk. Chewbacca hasn't seen his mate and son for almost a year," she said neutrally. "He's also going to the Outer Rim for a few days."

"Whatever for?" Rouge asked, suddenly curious.

"He's good friends with the commander we have in control of the old Hutt Sector," Leia answered.

"Calrissian," Bail remembered slowly, thinking of the files. "The Hutts are really out of power?" he asked. "They've been so unshakeable since before the Empire – "

"Well, someone murdered their leader, and the unit cohesion disintegrated," Leia said shortly – the adventures of Leia Organa and Luke Skywalker on Tatooine were not recorded in official Rebellion files because they had been on official leave from the Alliance.

She sat forward a bit, tapping her nail on her mug.

"Carlist will approve his leave," she said flatly. "He'll be leaving after midnight this evening – it will cause less of a stir," she added. "I came here to tell you this personally. He's taking a step back."

Rouge sighed, sitting back. She touched her lips thoughtfully, and then tilted her head.

"Well, that's for the best, don't you think?" she asked, turning her nose up slightly. "You'll have a moment to look at this logically, and remember yourself," she advised.

Leia sat forward and turned to Rouge, her jaw tightening. She resisted the nasty urge to simply tell her to _shut up_.

"This is not a negotiation about Han," she said curtly. "No part of this conversation will touch on whether or not Han is suitable."

Rouge compressed her lips thinly, and eyed Leia with irritation; Leia turned back to her father. Bail sighed, giving her a grudging, wary look.

"I did not seek Solo out with the explicit intention of separating the two of you," he said stiffly. "I do not want to be resented because you think I've ordered him to leave, or because he's chosen to go running off due to my reservations."

"He's not running off," Leia corrected, "and he made it clear you did not ask him to leave. In fact, he was rather adamant that you kept insisting you weren't going to pay him off."

"Oh," Bail murmured. "Well. He is – that is true."

Leia inclined her head to make a point – Han had been honest with her, and he had represented the event exactly as it had happened.

"This was his idea," Leia said, splaying her hand over her mug, her shoulders falling slightly. "You told him you need patience while you adjust. He took that to heart."

Bail was silent, taken aback, and Leia swallowed, hesitating a moment.

"He's willing to make himself scarce even at the risk of knowing you, or Rouge, or even some of the others, are likely to vilify him and try to change my mind about him. He's also probably figured out that with him gone, you'll realize that I'm _not_ under spell that breaks in his absence. Han's not afraid of you."

"That is _abundantly_ clear, Leia," Bail said shortly.

"You said the other night that we were having two conversations," Leia said quietly, "About my adoption," she censored herself carefully in Rouge's presence, "and about my romantic choices. You can't change the circumstances of either, yet you think you can influence the latter."

"Leia," he started.

"Just listen to me, Father," Leia interrupted softly, looking down at her kaffe for a moment. She looked back up, her expression intent. "I know what you're going through," she said sincerely. She looked over at her aunt for a moment. "I understand, on the most desperate level, what this feels like," she implored. Her eyes, back on her father, pleaded with him silently. "I know what losing Alderaan is like; I know what it's like to be hanging from the ledge of everything you knew while the people around you slowly nudge your fingers until you're hanging by only one. At some point, you fall; it's inevitable, because you have to plunge into the new reality – the plummet is terrible, but the _impact_ doesn't have to be the end of it all," she said.

She leaned over and set her kaffe down, effectively abandoning it; she appreciated the polite gesture of offering drink to a guest, but it really only illustrated how estranged they were, and there was – there was reason for it, yes, but this reunion could be salvaged.

"When I fell, someone caught me," she said quietly. "I want to make it clear that Han isn't leaving to let you make an argument against him, or because he's flaky, or because he's intimidated," she took a deep breath, "he's leaving because he knows it will remove some of the strain while you and I set things straight about my past."

Bail rubbed his jaw, considering her words. He sat forward a little, his expression thoughtfully, pushing his knuckle into his knee.

"He doesn't have to go," he started grudgingly.

"Yes, he does," Leia corrected. "Neither of you understand each other enough right now – your run in at my apartment was terrible, and despite a civil conversation yesterday, you damn near challenged each other to a duel in my office."

"He's abrasive, Leia," Bail said irritably. "If he'd – Carlist was singing his praises, too, but he doesn't seem concerned about recommending himself well, or proving to me that he's good enough for – "

"Han doesn't feel the need to prove himself to anyone," Leia warned. "You really – I really need you to get that in your head, and try to get used to it, because in Han's mind, he shouldn't have to bend over backwards to get your approval, because you should trust my judgment enough to accept it."

Bail sat back, his eyes widening slightly. He felt somewhat slapped in the face to hear that – not only because he knew it was true, but because Han Solo had been of that opinion before Bail had realized it was the one he needed to have. He was struggling to have it, he was – but this Leia was not the daughter he had known so well, and thus automatically accepting everything she said and did was difficult, as her choices now were based on things he knew nothing about.

Rouge leaned forward on her knees, pursing her lips as she caught Leia's attention.

"That sounds so very romantic and dramatic, Leia," she said tiredly, "but it's not realistic. People cannot recommend themselves to others solely because of who they are connected with. It's as if you're insisting that because _you_ like him, he can treat others however he wants, courtesy be damned. There's something to be said for being polite and biting your tongue."

"That's fair, Aunt Rouge, and I've told Han that both you and father will see his behavior as arrogant and insulting rather than protective and confident, but the bottom line is that I do not want his leaving interpreted as me giving you an opportunity to deride him," Leia said.

She looked between her father and her aunt, and turned her head, rubbing her temples slightly for a moment.

"The formality of these conversations is devastating, you know," she murmured after a long pause. "It's not lost on me, how much has changed, and how difficult this is for everyone – but I cannot jam myself back into the person I used to be any more than I can expect the two of you to snap your fingers," she snapped hers for effect, "and be miraculously adjusted to the world you live in."

Bail cleared his throat.

"What do you want?" he asked carefully. "What I mean is – you seem to have a proposition, an agenda."

Leia waved her hand, frowning. She straightened her shoulders, and held out her hand.

"I'm just attempting to navigate this as best as I can," she said, her voice hoarsening, "because I know it's been so botched, and so – and I think even if I'd introduced Han to you properly, in full uniform, at some fancy dinner, he'd have been a hard pill to swallow."

"You're quite right about that," Rouge said heavily.

"What I want," Leia began, her eyes on her father, "is answers, and an honest conversation that," she paused, compressing her lips for a moment, "that is going to be very difficult for me. It needs to be had, and I've assured Luke that we'll get the answers we can, but I'm trying to force myself into a place where I can handle what I'm going to hear. I had consigned myself to never knowing, you see," she said quietly, "and now, you're back."

"To ruin your life, it would seem," Bail said dryly.

"You aren't ruining my life, Father," Leia said, leaning forward. She reached for his hand, taking it tightly. "I want you here," she told him. She licked her lips, struggling with her words for a moment. "I'm sorry you found out about Han the way you did," she confessed. "I didn't want that. But I was not hiding him," she took a deep breath, "and when we discuss these shadows hanging overhead, when I understand – the things that were kept from me, Han will come back, and so help me Sith the both of you will start over and act like grown men."

Bail gave her a somewhat sheepish, somewhat grim smile – he liked the idea of starting over, but he couldn't see himself warming to Han Solo anytime in the near future. He was trying – he had vowed to try, and he did want to take cues from Leia, and from Carlist, but none of this was what he'd imagined for her, and in everything that had happened he saw what he perceived to be his failures as a parent.

"Forgive me," Rouge spoke up hesitantly. "But – I get the distinct feeling the bulk of this conversation isn't about the smuggler – your adoption, Leia?" she asked, her eyes suddenly large, and sad. "That's never mattered to you before. Have you rejected us, after all this time?"

Leia shook her head, her breath catching in her throat.

"No, it's nothing like that, nothing like that at all," she assured her aunt. "Nothing could have been better than what you gave me, what all of you gave me, and if I hadn't come to know what I have, I might have gone my whole life without caring in the slightest who my biological parents were."

"What's changed?" Rouge asked.

Leia looked at her a long moment, and then leaned forward, catching her father's eye, letting go of his hand.

"We'll talk about my mother and father first, and then we'll talk about Han," she said, soft but firm. "I'll try to make your transition into the present gentler than my adjustment to life without Alderaan was – I've been holding back because I'm scared of what you're going to tell me."

"Leia," he started.

"Not right now," she said, cutting him off. "I'm not ready."

She had her goodbyes to say to Han, she needed to think – she'd faced the Tribunals head on today, unbent and unbroken from the day before, visible and powerfully present just to prove to them all that she was not going to be taken down by petty insults and crass commentary. She had always stood back up when she was knocked down, and now was no different, but the trials drained her – despite Han's skepticism, being there did help her, in her own way, but she couldn't take in much more bad after days like this.

She stood, straightening her tunic, touching her hair. She inclined her head towards Rouge.

"You confided in Winter, but not her," she said. "You need to tell her who I am."

Bail compressed his lips.

"The more people who are privy to this, the more likely it is the information becomes public," he said.

"Someday, it will be public," Leia said – she felt sure of it; she didn't know how, but things like that – bloodlines, the heritage of important people – they always came out, in the end. "And when it does, if I'm to weather it, then the people standing closest to me have to be able to say that they knew, and they accepted me anyway."

Rouge watched them, her lips pursed in confusion, her eyes alert, expressive. Bail stood after a moment, sensing Leia was about to take her leave. She swallowed, looking up at him – she found herself struck once again by how old and tired he looked, and struck even harder by how he seemed so wary of her.

"I'll leave you to it," she said quietly.

"Let me see you out," Bail said cordially, leading the way.

Rouge remained on the couch, staring with consternation at the kaffe tray.

At the door, Bail caught her arm, his face lined with worry, haggard. His fingers pressed into her elbow and she looked down at them a moment.

"The things you spoke of yesterday," he started.

"I apologize for shocking you," Leia said hoarsely.

He shook his head.

"If I could have done anything to prevent it, Leia – I never intended to be cavalier with your safety – the thought that I couldn't protect you – "

"Father," she interrupted calmly, "it happened a long time ago," she swallowed.

She thought of continuing, but nothing else came to mind – there was pain in him knowing what she'd endured, but there was catharsis in it, too; at least he had some comprehension of why she had become so hardened.

"That you face them after that," Bail said, his eyes searching hers. "You give them a fair trial. You look them in the eye."

"The men who hurt me personally are dead," Leia said stiffly. "They're not all Tarkin."

"They are," Bail retorted. "They all share the same sins, the same sadistic minds – your mother and I raised you strong, Leia, but _this_ strength – where do you find it?"

He spoke with admiration, because he wasn't sure he knew many people – including himself – who could stare down humiliation, who could stand back up again so many times, who could hold on to their ideals and their sense of justice, in the face of all she'd been through – and it was even more daunting to think that she persevered where the infamous Anakin Skywalker had been unable to: through all of the bad, she was still so good.

Leia looked at him intently, and then lifted her shoulders.

"There is nothing else the Empire can do to hurt me," she said.

The answer was succinct, simple, and heartbreaking – she could hold the gaze of these mad, macabre men because they had done the worst to her, and they had lost in the end, anyway.

Bail lifted his hand from her arm and reached up tentatively cup her cheek, leaning forward to give her a kiss on the forehead. She grew very still, and grabbed his wrist tightly, as if she might fling him away, but instead closed her eyes a moment, reveling, for just a moment, in the care and affection of her father.

She felt his reluctance, his uncertainty – not about her, about Han; somehow, she could sense that despite her confidence in her choice, despite his grudging respect for Han for choosing to step back for a moment, he didn't like it. He had tested Han, but he wasn't satisfied, and it bothered her, but for now she swallowed her pride.

She pulled back and smiled, nodding her head once and leaving without another word, leaving him to speak with Rouge as he needed to, and to contemplate the things she'd said – and Bail stood at the door for a long time, struggling to get his thoughts straight, unsure if he was dreading the conversations to come, or eager to get them out of the way.

Whichever it was, he wanted to move forward, he wanted to fix things; he wanted to be able to grasp, and to understand, his daughter, and perhaps then take steps towards accepting this thing she had with a man he'd never in a million years imagined for her.

* * *

Han was almost always so attentive to her in bed that she was left sated and without complaints, but tonight he had completely outdone himself. She still felt like she was catching her breath even after he'd gotten up, slung on a pair of trousers, and half-heartedly starting packing a bag. She watched him move around the room with heavy eyes, only half-covered by the soft sheets, her hair in a hot, tangled mess on the pillow.

He caught her looking at him, and flashed a smug grin.

"I told you I'd make it good enough to hold you over until I'm back."

She answered him with a quiet, wordless moan, and he abandoned what he was doing for a moment to crawl across to bed to her. He pushed her hair back from her face, and she reached up to trace the glaring, red scratch she'd left on his shoulder. She left those sorts of marks on him often, but he never complained.

She leaned up to kiss him, and then dragged herself into a sitting position, tilting her head at him as her hair fell over her shoulders. He sat back on his heels, and glanced at the open bag on the end of the bed.

"I won't go if you don't want me to," he said – again, for the tenth time. He was so adamant that she know he wasn't ducking out on her, running off because he was annoyed with the pushback.

Leia ran her hand over his chest with pursed lips, leaning forward to kiss his shoulder lightly. She shook her head, resting her temple on his shoulder.

"It's a good idea," she murmured, resigned.

It was; she sincerely agreed with that. She had never expected her father to simply shrug his shoulders and welcome Han to the family, but somehow, even though she _hadn't_ expected that, she was irritated he hadn't done it.

Han rubbed her shoulders and moved back, getting off the bed again. He reached down to the floor and threw her his undershirt in case she wanted it, and as she was slipping it on, he cleared his throat, attempting to remain nonchalant.

"What'd he think about it?" he asked, without having to clarify who _he_ was.

Leia tucked her hair behind her ears, leaning up against the headboard. She rubbed her feet together, shrugging.

"He thinks I'll resent him because you've chosen this."

"Do you?"

Leia shook her head, resting it heavily against the headboard.

"I know you aren't going off because of him," she murmured. "At least, not for the reason he would think."

"He's thrilled, I bet," Han muttered. "He gets his way, me outta sight, outta mind," he growled, throwing a pair of shoes into the bag he had out.

"I think I made it clear that you are not out of my mind when you are out of my sight," Leia said gently.

She sighed, and tilted her head up, looking at the arched wood of the canopy over their bed, her eyes fixed for a moment on the decorative carvings.

"He seems to be trying, Han," she said, swallowing hard. "He must be trying – I think, at the root of it, he's more traditional than he'd like to think," she said, lowering her head to watch Han again. "He has these –reservations, perhaps logical from his point of view, but I think the root of it is that he doesn't think you're good enough for me, based solely on background and history. And as he's a very liberal person, or has always considered himself to be…that shakes his beliefs, and it's difficult for him to bear everything else without his own ideals being turned upside down on him."

Han snorted, grabbing clothing from the closet. He paused as he shoved it into the bag without finesse, and looked over at her, arching a brow.

"I can't do a damn thing about it if he's a snob," he said shortly.

Leia nodded, and she fell silent – she had never written Han off because he was a smuggler; she had originally written him off because he was downright infuriating and he made her want to push him off a cliff. She knew how hard it was to reform people's way of thinking when their beliefs and traditions were deeply ingrained, and if deep down, her father's staunch respect for nobility and the dignified history of his house was driving him, he would likely resist Han no matter what Han did.

"Is he going to try and talk you out of me when I'm gone?" Han asked sourly.

Leia pursed her lips.

"I don't think so," she said softly. "I don't think – he won't crusade against it; I think he's already realized that's futile. Rouge, she may still think you're somehow reversible, but Father," she trailed off a moment. "He'll challenge me," she decided.

"Meaning?"

"He'll provoke me to support my arguments in favor of you," she said, a small smile touching her lips. "He'll test me – and I've no doubt it will be infuriating, even condescending, but he'll do it thinking he's forcing me to confront any doubts I have and make sure my mind is sound."

Han stared at her, shaking his head.

"That's not fair," he snapped. "He can't treat you like you're a little kid, or like he's got a right – "

"But he's my father, Han, and he'd want to make sure I'm thinking straight about anything as serious as this," she interrupted. "Playing devil's advocate with me was how he taught me to think critically, to think openly – to be smarter."

She hesitated, and then fell silent - she was actually quite sure her father would ambush Han in much the same way, when they were on better terms, but she didn't want to cause Han any stress or concern.

Han threw a few more wrinkled things into his bag, and snapped the top shut, shaking his head. After a moment, he looked back up at her, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark and guarded. He didn't want to be part of some political game devised by Bail Organa, and he didn't want Leia treated the way Mon Mothma and the others had treated her.

He didn't think there was any real reason to be wary of Bail asking her to really consider this, but it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her how devastating it would be if he lost her because of this – he felt a rush of animosity towards Bail, and then a rush of irritation at himself for being less cooperative than he could have been.

Would it have killed him to grovel a little, just to appease her father?

He straightened and rubbed his jaw, eyeing her over his hand.

"You have any doubts?" he grunted.

She smiled at him languidly.

"If you keep asking me things like that, I'll start shouting at you," she said mildly.

He smirked at her, and yanked the suitcase off the bed, dropping it unceremoniously to the floor with a _thud_. He crawled back on the bed and snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her towards him.

"There's only one kind of shouting I want to hear in this room tonight," he growled, lowering his lips to her neck.

She giggled, tilting her head up to give him better access. She wrapped her arm around his waist and slipped her hand into the waistband of his pants, pressing closer to him.

"I did try to put it into perspective for them," she said, her lips in his ear.

"Hmm?" he mumbled.

"I let Aunt Rouge think I was pregnant for a split second – after that, a mere affair seemed less distressing," she whispered.

Han drew back, staring at her. She smacked his cheek very lightly, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not pregnant."

He arched his brows, and then put his head on his hand, leaning back some. His hand rested on her thigh, lingering just beneath the hem of the shirt she was wearing. His thumb tapped against her skin lightly, and his brow furrowed.

"Leia, do you want kids?" he asked bluntly.

She blinked, feeling as if she'd had her breath knocked out – he brought it up so casually, so conversationally – but then, how else would he talk about it? It wasn't as if there was a taboo on the subject; they planned on getting married, they'd never lost a child, so there was no pain to be avoided.

"In the middle of all this chaos, you want to talk about that?" she asked faintly.

He shrugged warily.

"You kind of brought it up."

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry. She was still so caught off guard by his sudden interest, that she was speaking before she'd sorted her thoughts out –

"Well, as a princess, it used to be a given that I'd have them," she said. "Then Alderaan was destroyed and – nothing was certain, and then, there's Vader – " her words stuck in her throat. "Han, I can't talk about this. I can't think about it right now."

"Okay," he said simply.

He leaned in to kiss her, and she pulled her head away.

"I can't, not – not until I find out if my mother was a raging psychopath, too."

"I said okay," Han said, in the same accepting, matter-of-fact tone. He leaned in to kiss her again, and she let him this time, her eyes open, watching him tilt his forehead into hers. She broke away gently, moving her hand to his arm and squeezing.

"Would it matter?" she asked in a small voice.

"What? You mean would I still want you?" he asked. He snorted. "'Course. It doesn't matter."

He bent to kiss her again, and her stomach fluttered – she didn't know if she should be concerned about his flippant attitude, or at least she perceived it to be flippant. Children – that was a big thing, a huge decision, and she didn't want it to come between them down the line. She slid her fingers into his hair and tightened her grip, pulling his head back.

"Do you want them?" she asked, having never before considered he might. She'd – she'd never quite thought about it at all, since losing Alderaan, even after she had fallen in love with Han – her life had been too much about desperately making sure she herself could survive the next year.

Han sighed, as if he were exasperated. He seemed mostly concerned that she kept interfering with his kissing. He frowned thoughtfully, and pressed his hand into her thigh heavily, shrugging after a moment.

"Not with anyone but you," he said finally.

He had never thought about it much, either. His whole life had been geared towards preventing inconvenient accidents like that from happening. Right now, he couldn't identify a burning desire to have children, and he didn't think they were a staple for his future with Leia, but kids with his name and her eyes –

His answer seemed to startle her, and she looked at him in the slightly doe-eyed way that she sometimes did when she didn't have time to control her feelings. She lowered her eyes and then wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. She kissed his jaw, her fingers fluttering around his neck.

"I love you," she said.

He nodded, lifting his head dramatically.

"I love me, too."

Leia laughed, shifting her knee and nudging his leg with it. She narrowed her eyes, and pushed him away playfully, shaking her head. She laid back, resting her head on his arm, and sighed, her eyes on the canopy again.

"And to think, I used to hate your guts."

Han laughed loudly.

"Yeah, sure Sweetheart, it was _hate_ ," he drawled. "Hate," he snorted, turning his head and lifting his brows suggestively. "That's what women call uncontrollable lust."

"Is that what you've told yourself, all these years?"

"Mm-hmm."

"My point is, if I could come around, Father will," she sighed, with an edge of hope.

Han's jaw tightened.

"It took you three years," he reminded her.

"Look where we are now," she countered.

He grimaced, and then turned to her, deadpan.

"I hope I don't end up in bed next to him in three years."

Leia pinched him, wrinkling her nose. She covered her eyes a moment, blinking away the image, and then gave Han a look. He grinned at her and reached up to twist some of her hair around his fingers, using it to gently tug her onto his chest. He threaded his hand through her hair, and she sighed, relaxing into his grasp.

"Luke has been so patient," she murmured. "And now I've – I can't put off this conversation for much longer."

Han turned his head and kissed her temple, listening.

"There was some sort of peaceful frustration in thinking I'd never know anything more than what I did," she continued huskily, "I don't know if I can face what I'm going to hear."

Han rested his hand on her lower back, pulling her closer.

"You can take anything," he said gruffly.

She rested her chin on his chest, dark eyes on his apprehensively.

"It can't get worse than Vader, can it?" she asked in a hush. "My mother, the whole story – it can't possibly get worse than being heir to the greatest villain the galaxy's ever known?"

He looked at her silently – he couldn't imagine what was worse, but unimaginable terrors were unimaginable for a reason, and he could make her no promises. He could only make it clear that it didn't matter to him.

"I don't care if your mother's the Sarlaac," he told her.

She smiled at him, her heart stuttering in her throat – she still shrank from the full weight of the knowledge that awaited her, but she could at least take comfort in the fact that this was one of the reasons she had chosen Han: because of his lack of prejudices to overcome when it pertained to bloodlines and identities.

He disentangled himself after a moment and got up, retreating to brush his teeth. Leia sat up, her arms draped loosely around her knees, listening to the familiar sounds of him getting ready for bed – he'd leave before the sun was up, and she'd take steps forward, and for the moment anticipation and dread fought a relentless battle in her head.

Han turned off the bathroom light, running his hand through his hair. He nudged his suitcase away with his foot, and she caught his eye, her lips turning up. She crawled forward and sat on the edge of the bed, toes barely brushing the thick carpet.

She crooked her finger at him, and he came forward, standing between her legs. She ran her hands up his abdomen and back down, scratching lightly with her nails, letting her fingers linger at the waistband of his trousers. She tilted her head up, looking at him through her lashes.

"I've got to give you something to hold you over," she murmured.

He smirked and started to push her back on the bed, but she resisted, palms on his ribs again. She pressed her heels into the backs of his knees instead, leaning forward to kiss his abdomen, her lips languidly drifting lower.

He closed his eyes, his breathing changing abruptly. She glanced up at him wickedly, and the glint in her eyes through her lashes was almost enough to make his knees buckle. She held his gaze as she hooked her thumbs into his trousers and slid them down, and then her lips dragged temptingly over his navel.

He slipped both of his hands into her tousled hair, and held on tight.

* * *

Leia was not entirely sure the magnitude of paperwork she was currently sifting through could be handled with only the aid of a glass of juice. Caffeinated juice it might be, but as she read the rationale for why exactly a Lieutenant Karstoff had just been cleared at the tribunals, she wished she had a shot of whiskey.

"I cannot believe they absolved him," she said stiffly.

"You weren't in that court room?" Mon Mothma asked, shuffling through papers of her own – the two of them had been together all morning, with the majority of the time spent assisting in negotiating a peace treaty between Malastare and Utapau.

"I was in Baron Sielkun's closed proceedings," Leia answered; the Baron was more important than the lieutenant. _"He_ was convicted on all accounts."

"Karstoff wasn't declared innocent; he was just declared not guilty," Mon Mothma said hollowly. "No preponderance of guilt proven. Lacking concrete evidence." She quoted bitterly.

Leia grit her teeth – yes; evidence against Karstoff had been scarce, and there had been no way to prove he had deleted the evidence himself, which Leia believed he had. She turned up her nose and set the paper aside, shaking her head – so this was the price paid for a fair government, with a legal system predisposed to hear all sides and presume the accused innocent until proven guilty.

Mon Mothma frowned, and leaned back, shaking her head.

"Remind me," Leia began delicately, "why we're bothering to be fair."

"Something to do with the twenty or so years we spent trying to restore justice and equality to the galaxy."

"Right, that."

Leia sighed, and Mon Mothma set aside some papers, leaning back on her sofa.

"There are lighter topics available," she said, her expression pinched – she didn't like when the legal systems went against her sensibilities either but, like Leia, she was firm in her republican convictions. The Chief of State lifted her brows, and Leia shuffled some papers, pausing a moment.

"Er, I believe this is yours," Leia said, delicately plucking out some exquisite stationary and handing it over – but not before she noticed it had " _My dearest…"_ scrawled across the top in effusive calligraphy.

Mon Mothma took it – nearly snatched it, and tucked it away. A slight colour touched her cheeks.

"My apologies I – I'm not entirely sure how that – thank you," she said.

"Was that a _love_ letter, Mon?" Leia asked, lifting her brows pointedly. She resisted the urge to smirk.

The other woman shook her head somewhat unconvincingly, and Leia gave her a bemused look. She was desperately curious as to who it was from – or whom it was for, if Mon Mothma had been writing it. She hoped it was Dodonna. Han had always thought -

Mon Mothma cleared her throat and tilted her head.

"Speaking of love letters – "

"Were we? You didn't confirm."

"—or rather, love in general – has General Solo really taken leave?"

Leia blinked cautiously, her lips turning down slightly. She eyed her colleague, and then leaned back in her chair, folding her arms.

"I'm asking for the sake of his safety," Mon Mothma said, evidently trying to be light. "Jan told me he put in for personal time, but he's disappeared quite quickly and I'm starting to wonder if there's merit to these holo rumors that no one has seen him since a meeting with Bail."

Leia considered her a moment longer, and then nodded very seriously.

"Father had him killed."

Mon Mothma stared at her.

"Your trials and tribulations are over, Mon," Leia said, deadpan.

"You must be joking."

"Of course I am joking," Leia retorted. "If Han was dead, I'd be inconsolable," she said flatly. "He's fine; he's going to Kashyyyk."

Mon Mothma raised her eyebrows.

"I'm glad to hear that; I'd have hated to arrest Bail."

Leia snorted quietly.

"Would you have?" she asked edgily, her eyes narrowing.

Mon Mothma inclined her head.

"Of course, I wouldn't allow myself to be head of a state that sanctioned murder," she said. She compressed her lips for a moment, and then sat forward. "Not to mention losing such a fine general would be a substantial blow."

Leia held Mon Mothma's gaze suspiciously, unsure what had prompted the praise of Han's military skill – she pursed her lips, equivocating on several statements that came to mind, and then finally chose to remain silent for a moment longer; she didn't particularly feel like questioning the apparent good will Mon Mothma was harboring towards Han in this moment.

In fact, it reminded her that Mon Mothma had refrained from taking an opportunity to give her opinion to Bail, right after the press conference. She'd only tacitly confirmed the issue and passed the Viceroy on to his daughter, and for that –

"Mon, I owe you some thanks," Leia said abruptly, her jaw softening.

Mon Mothma looked mildly taken aback, and pursed her lips curiously, waiting.

"Father told me you didn't say a word against Han in the aftermath of the press conference," Leia said, taking a deep breath. "For that, I'm grateful. You could have seized the moment and called him every filthy name under the sun and then some, but you refrained, and you should know that – I respect that, and I appreciate it," she said. Though she was sincere, she couldn't resist adding, with just a bit of irritation: "I'm sure it was difficult for you to pass that up."

Mon Mothma looked at her with an unreadable expression for a moment, and then she clasped her hands and leaned forward, resting her knuckles on her knees.

"It was not difficult to pass up," she said, and Leia was taken aback by the sharpness of her tone. She sounded – she sounded offended. "I have expressed concerns about your relationship to _you,_ Princess Leia, but unlike some of our colleagues, I have not disrespected General Solo to his face or in front of a crowd, and I have never been the type of woman to callously denigrate someone behind their back. Your father had barely gotten to know Han, and it would have been classless and inconsiderate of me to trash him before Bail could make up his own mind."

Leia, still startled, was processing Mon Mothma's words as the Chief of State went on –

"Han Solo is a good leader. He is a good general. We owe him so much. As you pointed out to me previously, I authorized a commission for him in this government. He is not the man he was five years ago, and I'm confident you had something to do with that. Furthermore, I'm sure he was a fine man in his own way before he even met you, or joined us. The average person does not risk the luxury of an Imperial commission for the life of one alien slave."

Leia swallowed hard, her face flushing – she hadn't felt quite so upbraided and mollified since she was much younger; she hadn't even felt this chastised when her father lit into her for refraining from telling him about Han pre-press conference. She read the offense in Mon Mothma's eyes, and her stomach felt heavy for a moment; she knew Mon Mothma was a good, noble woman, and she'd been thinking too rudely of her lately – but some of that came from knowing a woman she'd seen as a role model, a woman she'd looked up to, disagreed with the one selfish choice she had ever made.

Despite her moment of humility, Leia bristled.

"What is the origin of your derision, then?" she asked. "Is it truly just because you want me to cement a treaty with a marriage?" Emboldened for a moment, she grit her teeth: "I have nothing to give, no allure – I'm not a virgin, and I don't have land, my fortune is to be given to the diaspora, not as a dowry – all I have is a title, and it's a title that I'm sure will be ripped away if anyone ever finds out how dirty my real bloodline is."

Mon Mothma's eyes narrowed for a moment, and she studied Leia thinly.

"My feelings are not born of derision," she said shortly. Ignoring everything else, she honed in on one part of Leia's statement: "It is precisely your title that is the issue. It isn't just a title, Leia, and it used to mean something to you – "

"It still means something to me!" Leia broke in sharply. "But I'm not a painting, or a sculpture, Mon, I'm not artwork – I'm not monolithic!"

Mon Mothma took a deep breath. She held up her hands gently.

"Princess," she said pointedly, "You want to know why I have my reservations, and I owe you my reasons – I _want_ to give you my reasons, because they are not as blatantly elitist as Threkin Horm's, or even Jan's," she explained. "Will you listen?"

Leia opened her mouth to protest, closed it, and grit her teeth. She nodded; reservations were not ultimatums, and she supposed she owed Mon Mothma her little speech. The Chief of State sighed, placed her hands on her knees, and looked up.

"You mean so much to the people of this galaxy," she said. "Your ability to bring together people who have been fighting for years and create stability is astounding. It gives people hope. You were a rallying point in the Senate. You have always inspired, and you have always been larger than life – intimidating in the prettiest of ways, and I don't mean physical beauty," Mon Mothma said intently. "You weren't born to royalty, but you embody it; you wield power fairly, as if it's an extension of yourself, you survive impossible odds, and you're unshakeable – I understand that the press says cruel things about your emotional range but," she hesitated, "they're in awe of you. You're untouchable, and the root of so much of your influence lies in how – in how imposing, even mythical, your presence can be."

Leia compressed her lips, chills rising on the back of her neck – Mon Mothma spoke as if she herself didn't have the very same qualities, but her words embedded themselves in Leia's mind like some kind of overwhelming poetry.

"Leaders, whether they be elected, or whether their path be bestowed upon them by birthright, must exist, in some way, on a higher plane," Mon Mothma said quietly. "It sounds elitist, perhaps, but I'm not speaking in terms of house names and pure blood," she said, "I mean that the reason that people like your father, people who lead, practice discretion, and cling to dignity, is because people need to believe that their leaders are somehow better. Not _worth_ more, I don't mean that; I mean more principled, and untouched by the common vagaries and sins of the average person."

Leia took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Mon Mothma's.

"You think Han undermines my influence," she said simply. "You think he…humanizes me. He makes me too relatable, too – "

"He's common," Mon Mothma supplied. "He's flawed, he's impulsive, he hangs out in bars, he plays Sabacc in clubs with gangsters, he wears bloodstripes and gun holsters to formal events and he has no qualms about touching you in public – none of that makes him a bad person," Mon Mothma said fairly, "but it says something publicly. It says that if Han Solo can treat you like an equal, _anyone_ can. Your prestige slips through your fingers."

Leia leaned back, resting her chin on her palm. She looked at Mon Mothma thoughtfully, her face betraying none of what was going on in her head. Oddly, Mon Mothma's words did not necessarily make her angry. She had been expecting an itemized list of reasons why Han was an unacceptable partner, starting with his criminal past and ending with his refusal to get a military haircut. What she got instead was a fair reminder of the ideology she'd been raised on. She hadn't forgotten it, and she absolutely understood the logic behind it – hierarchies were always somewhat propped up by a people's belief in the infallibility of the elite – but this was a concept she had already struggled with, and struggled with again when she found out who her father by blood was.

Leia leaned forward, her head tilting intently.

"Mon," she said carefully. "I see your point, but answer me this – if my power, and my influence, derives only from my title, from an illusion projected from a social construct, is it power at all?" She paused only briefly, before going on: "If it is just my title, how long before they begin to say _'What does it matter what the Princess of a dead planet thinks?_ ' If my diplomatic skill and the respect I'm given is a product only of my place in the social order, then how will I be judged if the galaxy finds out that my father was Darth Vader? Did Vader himself maintain control because he chose an ominous Sith title for himself, or because of what he could do?"

Leia shook her head, catching her breath quietly.

"My title is what orders people to listen. It gets their preliminary attention. But it should be who I am, as a leader, which encourages them to follow. Who I am," she reiterated. "Not what I'm called."

"You underestimate the strength that can lie in elite social norms."

"I don't," Leia countered. "I question those norms. Democracies fail for many reasons, but a key factor is _laziness_ \- a populace unwilling to put in the grueling work it takes to compromise and to pay attention. Demagogues gain traction by simplifying issues and promising to be federal nannies, to take care of everything, to make people safe, through unlimited power, and then demagogues turn in to emperors. I'm telling you, Mon, if my relationship with Han really does negate any power or influence I have because it makes me more human, then I'm inclined to think that means people want to be ruled by a dictator." She paused, and licked her lips. "We weren't just fighting for freedom for the privileged, were we?" she asked. "If anything, my dismissal of Han's alleged unsuitability is a confirmation of the progressive values we fought for – people judged on their _merit,_ not their species, or their colour, or their race. People should respect their leaders, but leaders should not be gods. This democracy should be synonymous with meritocracy, not a tyranny of the elite."

Mon Mothma looked thoughtful, but somewhat unconvinced.

"Presenting an attachment to Han Solo as an exhibition of calculated political acumen is interesting, I think even Bail might take to it – you're so very intelligent, Leia – "

"It isn't calculated political acumen," Leia interrupted sharply. "He isn't a move on a holochess board, I love him," her declaration was blunt, devoid of the warm emotion the words had when she directed them to Han himself. "He loves _me_ ," she said, "and he's not obligated to. He has no ulterior motive. Surely you can understand how valuable that is, to have someone who would care for you even if you weren't rich, or powerful. I would be insane to throw that away."

Leia took a deep breath, her expression firm.

"Fucking a smuggler doesn't diminish me or my power," she said callously – with full intent to shock, and, judging the swift flicker of scandalized alarm in Mon Mothma's eye, full success in doing so.

"I think you're being naïve," Mon Mothma said softly – she did think there was a chance people would view Leia as debased if she continued this way, if she ultimately married Han Solo instead of letting the youthful affair run dry. Mon Mothma was torn between indulging this girl who she'd always cared for, and forcing her to see how illiberal and rigid the world was, even a democratic world.

The galaxy was immense, and social hierarchies existed, were entrenched and deeply valued on many worlds; for every person who would see the world like Leia, there was a person who would see Han Solo at her right hand as an affront to the nobility of their lineage. Their overall structure was to be democratic, inclusive, and hopefully free and peaceful, but individual worlds still had their traditions, their monarchies, their histories, and Leia couldn't ask them all to wash their hands of their legacy because Alderaan's survivors were being forced to evolve.

"I think," Leia said, in a dangerously soft voice, "I am the least naïve woman in this room."

Leia stared at the Chief of State with eyes that asked her if she'd ever _really_ lost her power, if she'd ever been stripped bare and held down while cold eyes watched, if she'd had needles jammed under her nails, drugs shoved into her veins, her skin pierced with hot metal that burned and stung and left flesh raw and broken.

Did she have a scar on her arm that would never heal; did she have bruises on her spine that had long ago stopped hurting, but had inexplicably never faded?

Leia sat back, her shoulders straight.

"I understand the value of appearing invincible," she said quietly. "I do it every day. When you say that Han takes away from that, you imply Tarkin already ruined me."

Mon Mothma looked horrified.

"I – mean no such thing – "

"It sounds like you do," Leia said simply. "Grand Moff Luschek already made it clear, in his little public diatribe, that I am not untouchable, or unbreakable – and I went back to the courts anyway. That way, anyone else who had been hurt could see that they still didn't win."

She swallowed hard, breathing out quietly through her nose.

"You speak of being larger than life, mythical. I'm not. I can't be held to a standard of perfection that doesn't exist," she said.

Mon Mothma leaned forward and put her chin in her hand, her eyes on Leia intently – not with judgment, but with soft respect.

"Not everyone thinks like you, Leia."

"Not everyone has to," Leia said flatly, "they just have to be made to understand that every single aspect of my life is not beholden to public opinion. The galaxy can rage with indignation if I'm a corrupt officer. They cannot dictate who I sleep with."

Mon Mothma smiled.

"I'm not a soulless woman, Leia," she said quietly. "I know what it's like to be in love."

"I don't think you're soulless," Leia said shortly. "I think," she paused, "I think you view Han as a rite of passage. A phase every young girl goes through. But I'm not a young girl anymore, and that's not what this is, and I'd like to be done with it," she said, firmness creeping into her voice.

"You still have your father to contend with, I presume?" Mon Mothma asked.

Leia nodded.

"I need my wits about me for that," she said, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully – her wits, her energy; she could hardly get at what was going on there.

She supposed her father's aversion to Han was an amalgamation of everyone's issues – the dissatisfaction with his heritage, his criminal past, the perception that he robbed Leia of her awe-inspiring stature – and that amalgamation was no doubt compounded by the fact that Bail was, at heart, a father, and Han Solo, with all his mischief and uncouth habits and swashbuckling attitudes was, in all honesty, every father's absolute worst nightmare.

Leia smiled slightly at that.

Mon Mothma sighed thoughtfully and sat back, reaching for some more papers. Clearly, the conversation hadn't been the light distraction from the abysmal news from the courts, but she still felt a bit better – and Leia was going to have to have this conversation with Bail, no doubt, so Mon Mothma felt that at least she had practice – although –

"Leia, your blood isn't dirty," Mon Mothma said abruptly.

Leia's lips twitched, as if she'd forgotten she mentioned that, and didn't want to be reminded.

"Evil isn't hereditary," she remarked.

Leia said nothing – she didn't want to talk about it. Still, Mon Mothma went on:

"You had two parents, you know."

Leia glanced at her sharply, and shook her head in a short, tight warning – it was the middle of the day, she had two more trials ahead of her, a trade meeting, three mediations, and a Council gathering, she couldn't afford to hear anything – anything – about Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader, or anyone else from back then.

Mon Mothma pressed her lips together, and inclined her head respectfully. She picked up a data pad, and cleared her throat.

"On a genuinely lighter note," she began, "Winter thinks Rouge would be cheered by a formal sort of outing, and she's proposed – along with Bastan – a large gala to celebrate the miracle of the rescue – very traditional, very Alderaanian. She suggests it be geared towards all Alderaanians left."

Leia arched her brows.

"That's grand – the population is miniscule now, in terms of the galaxy, but in terms of a ball – "

"We can handle it," Mon Mothma said, "if you think it's prudent. It could be cathartic, healing, a chance to come together."

Leia thought dully that it sounded like a cheap, last hurrah, but she compressed her lips, and thought about it.

"You really want me at another gala?" she asked, arching a brow.

Mon Mothma smiled a little.

"I promise not to try and marry you off," she said wryly. She tilted her head. "In fact, I thought we might offer the last Viceroy of Alderaan instead."

The joke was so well-delivered, Leia almost didn't see it for what it was. She blinked in surprise.

"To Prince Isolder?" she asked, straight-faced.

"To the Queen Mother of Hapes," Mon Mothma corrected, her eyes glinting.

Leia laughed sharply.

"A sense of humor becomes you, Mon," she said, shaking her head.

The notion was an amusing one, though, and she resolved to tease her father with it if – if things ever got good enough for her to tease him again. She told herself quietly that they would, he just needed – well, she wasn't sure what he needed, but when he told her, and she was sure he would, because he'd try to make her see reason, she was confident she could at least earn his grudging acceptance.

"Well," Leia said lightly, "I think we should put Aunt Rouge in charge of that. It's her sort of thing."

Mon Mothma nodded.

"It will take a bit of time to plan, but we'll start putting feelers out, form a committee," she murmured. She glanced up at Leia. "When is General Solo coming back?" she asked neutrally.

Leia gave a small shrug, and said nothing – Han would be back when Han felt he had gotten his head straight, and left her enough time to handle things on her side. She felt like he had other motives in leaving – not sinister motives, just other motives. She actually suspected he was going to come back with a real ring to put on her finger, but she didn't mention that to the Chief of State.

Han was in an extremely stake-his-claim sort of mood at the moment, and since he couldn't tack her to a mattress in front of everyone, he probably thought putting a diamond on her was the next best thing.

Leia pulled a file towards her and began surveying it, cursorily viewing the language – but she found it hard to focus. All the talk of blood, power, and where it originated, had left her distracted – thinking of Luke, bursting with curiosity while he waited for Leia to be ready for the conversation, wondering if she was ever really going to be ready.

She threw the file down haphazardly.

"Does lunch sound appealing?" she asked.

Mon Mothma nodded.

"Have you ever had the sandwiches on the fourth floor cafeteria? Mustafaran fish are involved."

Leia arched her brows, interested. She stood, slipping her heels on – she'd removed them when they sat down to go over the morning. With the added height, she came to the Chief of State's shoulder, and as she watched Mon Mothma grab her shoes as well, she cleared her throat, gripped by a whim.

"Mon," she began quietly.

"Hmm?" Mon Mothma murmured, distracted.

"My other parent," Leia said, her voice hoarse. "My mother," she said. She dipped her head, knowing Mon Mothma knew her, knowing she could ask now and – but no; she wanted to be with Luke for this – she wanted to hear this from her father. "If she was your mother, would you want to hear about her?" she asked.

The question was vague, but at least it might give her an inkling of what was coming –

Mon Mothma smiled a little, tilting her head.

"I would," she said, very carefully.

Leia considered her silently, and then nodded, following her silently from the expansive office out into the hall, headed for lunch, filing the morning away, filing the conversation away – perhaps Mon Mothma's words were the final thing she needed to fortify herself, to enable her to sit down with her father, and Luke, and be told the story – perhaps she was almost ready to put faces on the shadowy specters that lurked in the corners of her nightmares.

* * *

 _(haha - can you tell I majored in international politics?)_

 _-alexandra_


	19. Eighteen

_a/n: kind of a short chapter, compared to the last few (filler chapter...filler chapter...)_

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eighteen**_

* * *

Leia spent very little time at Luke's apartment, and that was generally because he spent so little time there himself. He was often distracted by increasingly mysterious quests to places where there were rumored to be caches of ancient Jedi knowledge; when he wasn't distracted by that, he was devoting himself to military duty – and of course, lately, he had been consumed by Viceroy duty.

She had access to his place, though, and she chose to go straight to him after work one evening – she had spent two days carefully constructing her nerve, and she did not want to risk losing it if she went home to change or have a bite to eat first.

She was coming up on a week-long recess from the Tribunals and Han was drifting through hyperspace somewhere; with her father recently made aware of the things she'd suffered at the hands of the Empire and able to put the conversation they needed to have in context with that, she was reaching out to Luke to let him know his moment had come.

She was having difficulty reaching him, though. In an odd turn of events, his mental connection had been completely closed to her all afternoon. She tried not to let herself be nettled by it, as she blocked him all the time – but one of the comforting things about Luke was that he was always open to her.

He had also failed to answer his comlink _twice,_ and since he wasn't on duty today, Wedge Antilles had been no help in ascertaining where he was.

Leia had resigned herself to waiting for him at his apartment, as the other alternative was hunting him down at the Jedi Temple, and she'd swallow fire before she'd set foot in that place. He was always trying to get her to go with him – to _feel_ the place, to _explore_ the place – as if being there would suddenly cleanse her of all the bad feelings she had concerning Darth Vader.

She let herself into his apartment comfortably – Luke had his access coded so that she and Han were authorized to enter in the waking hours of the day, though why he seemed to think they needed that privilege was beyond her.

His apartment was clean and bare, not at all homey and barely stocked with furniture or decorations or – any signs of life, really. Leia's lips turned up, amused, as she wandered around the parlor area. He didn't even have a holovision. Luke's life experiences were so obviously reflected in the simple way he lived; years as the nephew of a credit-pinching, poor moisture farmer, followed by years as a strapped-for-supplies rebel, had left him with little need for material items.

Though she would never outright admit it, Leia, on the other hand, raised in considerable wealth and splendor, was glad to have at least a little luxury back once the dust of revolution had settled.

Leia strode around his still, empty place, only slightly unsettled by the silence – his apartment seemed to hum, somehow, seemed _loudly_ silent, and she wondered if it had to do with how connected he was to the Force at all times.

She paused near the sofa, on her way to the kitchen. There was something lying over the back of the cushion – a flight jacket, much too small to be Luke's, and – Leia took a step back, startled.

The other item was clearly a female's brassiere, decorated with intricate lace netting, deep red in colour.

Leia stared at it for a moment, and then looked around the room warily.

"Luke?" she called hesitantly.

There was no answer, so she assumed the clothing was left over from some…other evening. She compressed her lips, slightly amused, and turned to continue into the kitchen. Then, in a moment of sheer curiosity that she would never, ever cop to if confronted, she turned back and picked up the undergarment, checking the designer, and the size.

She placed it back where she'd found it immediately and went into the kitchen, smirking to herself – perhaps that's why Luke had been completely unreachable all day.

Wondering where he was now, she poked through his cabinets, looking for tea or kaffe or anything, really. She opened the icebox and frowned – Luke's food stores consisted of a few fruits, a box of blue milk, and sixteen bottles of water. That, she supposed, was also a habit that derived from childhood on a desert planet: fanatical obsession with clean, fresh water.

She felt only slightly bad for snooping. Part of her felt he deserved it – if they'd grown up together, as normal twins, they'd have definitely done their fair share of snooping and pestering the daylights out of each other, so she was only catching up on lost time –

She heard a _thump_ , and then a soft swear, and turned, listening. He must be here – he must have been in the 'fresher or something, unable to hear her call. She sighed and rolled her eyes, leaving the kitchen and winding down the hall. She wanted to go ahead and get this set, because if she set things in stone she couldn't back out of it.

She'd realize later it was incredibly rude and thoughtless of her to just walk into his bedroom, but for the moment, since the door was open, she took that as an invite.

"Luke," she began, her hand on the door. "I've been trying to – "

Standing there in the doorway, she trailed off into silence, her eyes widening.

She found herself faced not with Luke, but with none other than Dansra Beezer – and the woman was in a most considerable state of disarray. She looked startled to find herself staring at the Princess of Alderaan, but after a moment of shocked blinking, she didn't even _blush_.

Which was possibly because the universe could not handle more blushing than Princess Leia was currently doing at that moment.

Dansra, sitting in Luke's bed with nothing but his well-loved cloak about her shoulders, pushed her hair back with one hand and pulled at the material of the cloak with the other to ensure she was covered. She had a data pad in her lap, and it looked as if she'd just settled down to read something on it.

"Your Highness," Dansra said faintly. "I – this is slightly embarrassing," she said energetically, though she didn't exactly _sound_ mortified. "I – I'd get up, but," Dansra trailed off.

Leia held up her hand, shaking her head a little.

"No ceremony," she agreed quickly, trying to plot her escape. "I was looking for – where's – have you seen…?" Leia broke off, finding herself unable to articulate for a moment. She took a deep breath, regaining her dignity. "Is Luke here?"

Dansra nodded, and put a finger to her lips. She pointed to the covers next to her, at which point Leia realized there was a sizeable, Luke Skywalker-shaped lump buried under them.

"I was, ah, finishing this novel," Dansra said in a whisper, gesturing at the datapad. "He's kind of a heavy sleeper – "

"I don't need any details," Leia said swiftly. She took a step back. "I – Dansra, I apologize for interrupting – "

"No harm done, Princess, we're finished," Dansra said brightly. Before Leia could stop her, she reached over and poked Luke hard in the ribs. "Skywalker, wake up, the Princess is here."

Leia closed her eyes, silently asking herself how she had possibly gotten herself into this situation – Han would be beside himself with glee if it were him but it just had to be her –

"What?" came Luke's sleepy voice. "Who is? What princess?" he mumbled, lifting his head, disoriented.

He blinked at Dansra, and she pointed to the door.

"The Princess, your sister," she clarified.

Luke turned his head and stared at her blankly for a moment. Leia put her forehead delicately in her hand, shaking her head slightly – Luke sat up abruptly, scandalized.

" _Leia_!" he howled.

She flung her hand out, looking at him in exasperation.

"Your door was open!" she protested lamely – of course he had a right to leave his bedroom door open, in his apartment, alone, when he wasn't exactly expecting Leia's company.

Luke looked so distressed, though, that she almost started laughing. To stop that from happening, she clenched her teeth, and managed to look stern. She inclined her head politely and took a few steps back.

"I'll wait in the parlor," she said lightly, retreating to give them some privacy – which meant she was forced to stand tensely alone in the living area where the flight jacket and lingerie – Dansra's lingerie, obviously – were still draped on the sofa.

It took only a few moments for Luke, followed by an unfazed and effervescent Dansra, to emerge; Luke had taken his Jedi cloak back from the blonde pilot and donned it over his usual black tunic, and she was back in the tan-and-white uniform pants of her squadron with her yellow t-shirt untucked.

Leia pointedly stared at Luke until his face turned red, noting in her peripheral vision that Dansra, after slipping her flight jacket on with ease, merely thrust the red bra into the pocket. She ran a hand through her hair, shaking it down her back, and cleared her throat, hooking her thumbs into her back pockets.

"Well, this was fun, and indecorous," she said wryly, breaking the silence. Standing close to Luke, she looked at Leia through her lashes, a _bit_ sheepishly – though Leia got the impression Dansra hardly ever felt sheepish in her life. "Princess, I'm not entirely keen on etiquette in general, as my family was working class on Alderaan, but I'm really not sure what the protocol is for this in particular."

Leia smiled a little, lifting her eyes to the ceiling for a moment. She shrugged lightly.

"I'll look it up, and get back to you," she responded facetiously. "Although," she said, lowering her eyes to Luke's, "I doubt you'll need it, as I'll refrain from assuming Luke's alone in the future."

Luke glared at her, and Dansra grinned, turning to him. She glanced at Leia hesitantly, and then leaned forward, pressing her lips to Luke's jaw in a swift, affectionate kiss.

"I'll see you around, Commander," she drawled.

Leia arched her brow at Luke, unable to help herself.

"'Commander?'" she quoted teasingly – could Luke, sweet, kind Luke, really be the type of man who had kinks like –

"Oh, like you've never called General Solo _C_ _aptain_ in bed," Dansra said with a laugh – yet even as she started to laugh, the colour drained from her face and she clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening. "Princess," she gasped. "Your Highness – I'm – I completely forgot who I was talking to – I'm so sorry," she stammered.

Dansra stood there looking like she was about to be beheaded, and Leia, her features completely schooled, desperately tried to figure out how to respond to the comment behind a mask of neutrality – perhaps that was precisely what Mon Mothma was talking about when she said Han made Leia too relatable.

"I don't mean any disrespect or – vulgarity," Dansra choked, while Luke stared at her in a mixture of amusement and abject disbelief.

Leia was silent for a moment longer, and then chose simply to say:

"Did General Solo say something to you on that rescue mission?"

Luke's eyes snapped on to Leia in disbelief. Dansra still looked petrified for a moment, and then she closed her mouth with interest, cocking her head.

"No, _no_ , Your Highness," she assured her, "no, he's a perfect gentleman – "

" _Han_ Solo?" Leia asked. "Perfect _gentleman_?"

Dansra smiled weakly.

"He wasn't telling stories, Princess Leia," she began again, and trailed off a little, as if she'd just realized Leia wasn't displeased, or irate, she was…implying Dansra may have made that joke from a place of knowledge.

Dansra pressed her lips together and arched her eyebrows.

Luke looked between them a moment, and then cleared his throat, desperate to remove himself from this situation.

"Can I – walk you out, Dan?" he asked.

She spared a brief moment to continue eyeing Princess Leia thoughtfully and then nodded, walking with Luke to the door. Leia folded her arms and put her hand to her mouth, biting her nail thoughtfully. She was unsure if she was abashed or offended or amused – or all three, but she was at least glad she'd taken the initiative to check the designer label on that gorgeous piece of lingerie, because Han would probably like it on her in green.

She listened to Dansra and Luke having a hushed conversation, and closed her eyes, opening them only when she heard the door shut, and sensed Luke standing behind her expectantly. She turned, and met his narrowed eyes.

She compressed her lips tightly.

"You would throw," Luke began seriously, "the biggest hissy fit," he continued, "if I just waltzed into your bedroom unannounced."

Leia waved her hand loftily, giving him a look.

" _You're_ the one who felt that it was a gesture of trust to give me coded access to your private quarters."

"I didn't know your political tact evaporated outside of the office," Luke retorted.

She stared at him, affronted.

"Well, _Commander_ , I've been trying to reach you all day," she said. "I had no idea you were off the grid because you were – passionately indisposed."

Luke nearly choked on his tongue.

" _Passionately indisposed_?"

"I'm being diplomatic."

"That is the worst euphemism I've ever heard," Luke growled.

"You sound angry, Luke," Leia said mildly. "Anger is a path to the Dark Side."

His jaw dropped – he was somehow annoyed, startled, and amused all at once; annoyed that he'd been rudely roused from a very nice nap, after which he'd originally planned on enjoying Dansra's company more; startled because Leia was making jokes about her habits with Han and the Force, and amused because this situation was patently absurd.

For a moment, brother and sister stared at each other, until Luke finally cleared his throat again and, with a dignified air, lifted his chin.

"I don't want to talk about this ever again," he decided authoritatively.

She nodded, though silently she added a caveat that she had to tell Han about it, and _then_ she'd never speak of it again.

Luke cleared his throat dramatically yet again and turned stiffly, marching into his kitchen.

"Want something to drink?"

"All you have is blue milk and water."

Exasperated, he rounded on her.

"You went through my kitchen?"

"If that's what you call this barren wasteland," Leia retorted. She sighed, leaning against the counter. "Luke, I really thought you were at the Temple – you locked me out, and your com was set to no disturbances mode."

Luke gestured wildly towards the hall with a look on his face that screamed _'well, obviously!'_

"I had no idea you were such a snoop," Luke griped.

"How else would I know everything?" Leia answered smoothly.

"That's shady, Leia."

"That's politics, Luke."

She flashed a small smile at him, and he folded his arms, eyeing her suspiciously a moment. He sighed, shaking his head in as his shoulders relaxed.

"I can't believe she said that about Han – you must have really flustered her," Luke muttered, amused.

"I can't believe she hit that close to the mark," Leia answered, deadpan.

Luke wrinkled his nose, and glared at her.

"What's gotten into you?" he whined.

"I'm catching up on all the sisterly tormenting I missed out on in our youth," she answered smartly.

"Who _are_ you?" Luke demanded dramatically.

She looked down at her hands a moment, compressing her lips. Her wry smile faded slightly, and she considered her nails for a moment, glancing back up at him when the silence had gone on long enough that some of the levity was gone.

"That's the question, isn't it?" she asked softly, thoughtfully.

She was no longer sure she could confidently define herself when there were so many missing pieces.

She hesitated, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, and then she lifted her head, catching his eye again.

"That's what I'm here about," she said.

He swallowed, searching her expression without a word.

"You've been very patient," she said.

He nodded, and then he said:

"I know it's not easy for you, Leia – "

She shook her head.

"No, I don't think you realize how hard it is," she said frankly – without malice, without irritation, just with resignation. She flattened her palm on the counter, focusing on the white of her skin against the black marble. "I think you – I think you _try_ , you try to be empathetic, but you can't be, and that's not your fault," she assured him. She swallowed hard. "I grew up with – _no_ interest in my so-called 'real' parents. You grew up with an aunt and uncle who made it a mystery for you, who accidentally turned them mythical," she shook her head. "I didn't want to know, and when I found out about him, it did something very – very terrible," she pressed her fingers to her chest, near her heart, "in here, because it – because adopted children put halos on their biological parents, even if they don't pine over them – we create fairy stories and build them up. It wasn't just knowing that he had enslaved the galaxy and – presided over my darkest hours – it was hearing, after all I'd been through, that the one intact idealistic imagining I had was tainted, that my heritage was worse than I could have imagined even in the most sadistic of dreams."

Leia lowered her hand, curling her fingers up into a loose fist.

"It sounds silly," she confessed, "but it utterly obliterated the last shreds of any innocence I had."

Luke swallowed hard, bowing his head for a moment, listening to her as she continued carefully, and hoarsely.

"So I need you to understand, to really feel, how hard this conversation will be for me – because I hate him, Luke," she said, starting at his bowed head. "I _hate_ Vader. He caused you pain, too, I know," she went on, nodding at his prosthetic hand, "but he almost ruined me."

Luke's heart caught in his throat and he pressed his palms to the counter, nodding his head slowly. He glanced over at her, contrite almost.

"Leia," he said thickly. "I had no idea he – that he let Tarkin," Luke broke off, his face pale. "I didn't know."

Leia considered him for a moment and then, inexplicably, she – she corrected him:

"I don't want to talk about this," she said quietly, prefacing her next words: "but I will tell you – that Tarkin…acted outside of Vader's orders," she said dully. "Vader was – displeased."

Leia pursed her lips.

"He called it _pedestrian_ ," she remembered hazily.

She didn't miss the relief on Luke's face, and she supposed she'd told Luke that Vader at least wasn't responsible for – or rather, hadn't authorized – _that_ because he had clearly been horrified by the information. Somehow, despite her animosity towards Luke's forgiveness of Vader, and despite how much she hated the man himself, she couldn't bring herself to let Luke suffer, and struggle with his peace with Anakin Skywalker, because he thought Tarkin's sins and Vader's were one in the same.

The relief, the slight relax of his muscles though, provoked her.

"He still hurt me relentlessly, Luke," she said hoarsely. "He didn't _care_ that Tarkin disobeyed him. He did things to my head, things so invasive," she broke off; Luke was looking away from her again, hanging his head. "Look at me," she snapped, and reluctantly, he did. She held his gaze for a harsh moment, and then let out her breath. "I wake up from nightmares, sometimes, and I can still fill his fingers scraping against the inside of my skull. Ripping through memories, some that he damaged so badly I can't reflect on them without seeing him there. You aren't ever going to understand what this is like for me. Just remember that."

Luke opened his mouth, his throat dry.

"I don't want to be insensitive," he said earnestly – honestly.

He turned towards her, reaching for her hand.

"You can let me in your head," he said sincerely. "I'll experience everything you did, I'll feel that suffering – I'll be able to empathize, and then I can show you how the Force can bring you peace – "

She drew her hand back, a little disturbed, shaking her head.

"I wouldn't wish my head on anyone," she whispered, declining his invite – she didn't want anyone to experience what she had, to feel the pain she had, and she didn't think it would work like he thought it would; he would _still_ never have lived it like she had.

Luke clenched his jaw uncomfortably, reaching up to rub his temple instinctively – remembering how overwhelmed he'd been when she wasn't shielding herself on the landing docks.

Leia watched him for a moment, and then laced her fingers together, taking a few moments to compose herself in the silence.

"Han left so I – so we – could get through this without the added pressure of his tension with Father, and Father's preoccupation with him," she listed tiredly. "I've spent…the past few days fortifying myself, preparing myself, and I've decided that I'm not ready to hear any of this," she said.

Luke blanched, but she ignored his expression, and continued:

"I won't ever be _ready_ , in a conventional manner of speaking, for this; to erase all the mystery of my origins and have the information in my hands and available for analysis – but I am capable of having the conversation," she said, taking a deep breath, "and I'd like you to be there, with me, rather than make you wait for a separate moment."

Luke reached for her hand instantly – he'd been muzzled since Bail Organa returned; he'd kept his mouth shut and his curiosity bound up tightly, and he'd thought that he would only be free to accost the Viceroy with questions when Leia had talked to him and come to terms. He had expected her to restrict the conversation to herself and her father; he had expected to get his turn when she was done, either from her, if she could talk about it, or finally from Bail – but he was so heartened that she wanted to sit down with her Father and have these things answered _together_.

He squeezed her hand.

"Don't you think we'll find some peace in knowing the full story?" he asked.

She shrugged, turning her hand over in his, but allowing him to continue holding it.

"I can't say," she murmured. "I was – much happier never knowing about Vader."

Luke squeezed her fingers again and leaned forward, his expression questioning.

"I understand Han giving you and Bail some space but – don't you want him here, for this?" he asked.

Leia sighed, flicking her eyes around uncertainly.

"Yes, and no," she admitted finally. "He made the point that his presence is only further straining my relationship with Father, and he can't promise me he'll behave, so," she trailed off, and frowned lightly for a moment. "Han is very fluid," she said abruptly. "He's very – go with the flow," she went on slowly, "sometimes it's unnerving, when I'm trying to process things."

He already knew about Vader, so she'd feel none of the hollow, cold dread she felt on Endor when she'd been forcing herself to tell him, waiting to see if it was going to chase him off, but she still felt as much as she might need his comfort, she needed to process this on her own.

"I know what I'm going into this time, and it's not…really about Han, not this," she said. "I won't fall apart."

"Good," Luke said warily. "Do you _know_ how much he yelled at me when he found out _that's_ why you were so upset the night before the battle?" Luke shook his head, a shadow crossing his face. "I thought he was going to kill me. He didn't stop shouting for half an hour."

Leia smiled faintly.

"What did he say?" she asked – she hadn't realized Han actually went through with tearing Luke a new one. He'd paced the _Falcon_ angrily, _threatening_ to do it, when he realized Luke's somewhat callous revelation had caused her to be so inconsolable.

"I don't know," Luke said, eyes wide. "Half of it was in Corellian, and some of it was swear words I've never heard before." He nodded seriously. "I think that's when I realized he _really_ loved you. Do you even want to hear where he threatened to put my lightsaber?"

Leia tilted her head.

"He's an idiot," she said fondly. Han – thinking giving Luke what-for would somehow ease the pain of it all.

She squeezed Luke's hand again and pulled back, straightening up a little.

"Speaking of Laser-Brain; I do have the Han issue to deal with in regards to my father, so I don't want to drag – this other thing out," she said, taking a deep breath. "If you are available – tomorrow evening, I thought I would ask Father over for dinner – for purposes of," she paused dryly, "family history."

Luke tried not to look too eager, schooling his features well.

"I'll clear my schedule – I don't think I have anything, but I'll clear it," he assured her quickly.

She inclined her head. He sounded _so_ eager that it was vaguely irritating to her. She looked down at her hands for a moment.

"Luke," she sighed, looking back up. "Why does it matter so much to you? We can't change anything. And if my father wasn't back, there a things we may have never known – would you have let searching for answers consume your life, then?"

"But we can have the answers now," he said gently.

She studied him intently for a moment.

"What will you do if it's a terrible story?" she asked hoarsely. "If it lacks a single redeeming quality?"

He frowned thoughtfully.

"I think it's clearly a terrible story," he said finally. "Anakin Skywalker…ransomed his soul. We lost each other. Who knows what happened to our mother. I just happen to also think," he paused, "that maybe it wasn't always terrible."

"What if _she_ was?" Leia pressed, a harsh edge creeping into her voice. "You might have to confront your romantic Jedi outcasts theory. You might have to watch it crumble in front of you."

Luke shifted his weight, fidgeting. He looked away from her unhappily, his mouth tight.

"Well, then, I will."

Leia sighed, staring at his profile – she hadn't meant to be cruel to him, and she felt she came off that way. She just – she was so afraid she was going to hear more things that scattered pieces of her all around.

"It's important to know your own history, Leia," Luke said finally, looking back at her, meeting her eyes solemnly. "You're a politician. You know the value of knowledge. We need to avoid their mistakes. The Old Republic's, and our parents'."

Leia tilted her head, narrowing her eyes intently – it was profound, and much more acutely aware of politics than Luke usually was. Her lips turned up slightly in a small smile, in spite of herself. She didn't want him to be disappointed.

She even thought, for a moment, she could handle hearing all about the Vader of old if it could somehow preserve Luke's endless optimism.

* * *

Leia had taken up residence in the study in the apartment, which was where the visual communication system was set up. With her feet up on the desk, resting irreverently on a stack of diplomatic papers, and her shoulders dropping as she lounged back in the chair, she was doing a remarkably spot-on impression of Han, which he immediately remarked upon when she answered his call.

"Hey, who taught you to slouch like that?" he drawled, peering at her smugly – he swung his legs up onto the control consoles in the _Falcon's_ cockpit, his blue image shimmering as he moved.

Leaning back in his seat, he grinned.

"Oh," Leia sighed, waving her hand flippantly. "This scoundrel I know."

"Scoundrel got a name?"

"I can't remember – I have so _many_ scoundrels."

"In your harem?"

"Yes, my harem of scoundrels."

Han shrugged, and held out his hands.

"S'long as I'm Chief Scoundrel."

"The best I ever had," she quipped.

He raised his brows suggestively and nodded at her legs.

"You wear that to the Tribunals?"

"I was at the Senate today. Two speeches on unity."

"Fine; you wear it to the Senate?"

She shook her head wordlessly – of course she hadn't; her current attire was a frightfully simple sleeveless summer dress, comfortable for hanging around the apartment, but far too informal – and short – for the professional arena.

Han waved at her seriously.

"Hitch it up a little," he requested.

Leia tilted her head at him thoughtfully, and then reached for the hem of the dress, hiking it up from knees. She gave him a pointed look, as if to ask – _happy?_ He shrugged, nodding approvingly; now he could satisfy himself with a generous glimpse of thigh, in addition to her face. She rested her head back against the chair and smiled indulgently – insatiable Han, gone for a mere few days and salivating over a paltry glimpse of skin.

He leaned forward a little, checking over his shoulder.

"Chewie's messing with something in the turret," he assured her, before lowering his voice, "what colour is your lingerie?"

"Han," she laughed. "This is not _that_ kind of call."

He gave her an affronted scowl.

"Why else would you want to talk to me?"

"Well," she retorted, "you left your razor on the floor of the shower and I _stepped_ on it."

That was not at all something of glaring importance that she wanted to talk to him about, but it still merited mentioning – she had enough problems without having to keep applying bacta to the nefarious stab wound on her small toe.

Han winced a little, apologetic, but seemed overall unperturbed.

"So, you want to break up?"

"Yes, I'm afraid that's the last straw," she sighed dramatically.

Han laughed, leaning forward.

"Sweetheart, do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you when I get back?" he asked suggestively.

She twisted her finger in a loose strand of hair, shrugging innocently.

"Write it down, and send it to me," she said. "I'll read over it in my next tedious meeting."

He arched his brows, amused, and leaned back again, mimicking her posture. She shifted her head, looking at him in comfortable silence, lifting her other hand to absently start working those loose strands of hair back into a more comprehensive loose braid.

"How's your flight?" Leia murmured, fingers moving slowly and deliberately.

"Nothin' to tell," Han answered. "Should dock with Lando's garrison tomorrow morning."

Leia looked at him curiously, her lips pursed.

"I thought you were going to Kashyyyk first," she said.

"Lando's got liberty time now," Han said, "and," he continued, a smug glint creeping into his eye, "he said he scoped out Mos Eisley _and_ Mos Espa, and there's no one around who hates me."

"No one?" Leia quoted, indicating mild disbelief. "Hmm – so, you're rendezvousing with him on Tatooine?"

Han nodded.

"Be careful, Han," she sighed.

"Want me to bring you anything back?"

"From _Tatooine_?" she laughed, her hands pausing. He grinned back, clearly having been joking – but she leaned forward mischievously. "Actually, fill a jug with sand, and bring me that."

" _What_?" he snorted. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"So I can distribute it throughout Luke's apartment and convince him he's going crazy," Leia retorted devilishly. "He'd be so distraught – you now he always says he just now got the last bit of sand out of his hair."

Han gave her a gleeful look.

"That's depraved, Leia," he chastised loftily, though his expression said he was completely onboard with assisting in such a prank.

"I suppose you're right," she said, arching a brow. "I wouldn't want to trigger his Vader gene."

Han fell silent, taken aback. He tilted his head back a little, looking at her warily, and narrowed his eyes – he wasn't sure he had ever heard her make a joke like that, and furthermore, he wasn't entirely sure it was a joke. Knowing her, Leia was likely to believe that she and Luke both had some sort of evil switch just begging to be flipped.

A small, faint smile touched Leia's lips briefly, and then faded neutrally as she looked down to watch her hands for a moment. Her movements tapered off slowly, and she rested one hand on her thigh, worrying the hem of her dress between her fingers. She touched her temple with the other hand, sighing softly.

"I'm speaking with Father tomorrow night," she revealed quietly. "I asked Luke to be there – "

"Good, that saves everyone trouble," Han said flatly – that way Leia wasn't tasked with filling in Luke if she needed to, or having to rehash it with him when he found out and was, no doubt, excitable.

Leia nodded, compressing her lips.

"It's very set in stone, very official," she said, resigned, eerily calm. "Tomorrow evening, twenty standard time – there will be dinner, wine," she trailed off, affecting a small, mock sort of bow at the waist, "a show, possibly." She gestured to herself, hinting that she was unable to anticipate what her reaction would be.

"Give 'em hell," Han said. Part of him wanted to be there for her; part of him knew this really had nothing to do with him – not this part, at least.

Leia sighed, slouching down a bit more.

"Luke must be bouncing off the walls," Han muttered.

Leia lifted her eyes to the ceiling, her stomach flipping uncertainly. She shook her head, letting out her breath slowly, thinking of Luke and his endless optimism, his faith in the past, and in the future, his –

"He's so," she began softly, cautiously. "He's so – effervescent," she chose the word out of the blue, and Han was surprised; he was sure she'd been about to say something negative. "He's so at peace," she went on. "If Vader was alive, he'd have him 'round for breakfast and a warm cup of forgiveness," she quipped, bitterly.

She bit her lip a moment, shaking her head again, looking straight into the shimmery blue projection of Han's face, finding his eyes through the wavelengths.

"People call me strong. I've heard them call me unbreakable – sometimes it's an insult, sometimes it's praise," she said. She brushed her lips with her fingers lightly. "Luke, though," she murmured, reflecting on his incredible capacity for absolution. "Luke's the strong one."

Han made a dismissive noise at that, and leaned forward, dragging his legs off the console. He shook his head firmly.

"There's different kinds of strength," he said bluntly. "Luke's a tough kid, but he's got nothin' on you."

Leia smiled lightly.

"I admire him," she said thoughtfully. "He's pure, but he's not naïve," she was almost talking to herself for a moment, and then she focused on him again. "Despite my appreciation of his nobler qualities, he's irritating the hell out of me," she admitted tersely, switching gears completely.

Her lips tightened – Luke so obviously felt no trepidation about the impending conversation – or if he did, he was so at peace with it, and kept it so well controlled, that his passivity in general was irksome.

"The Force must be one magnificent _drug_ , if it can make him forget every evil thing Vader ever did."

Han knew Luke would balk at her derision towards his religion, at the implication that he was numbing himself in a detrimental way –

"You ought to rewire his hand," Han said darkly. "Remind him that it wasn't all good for him, either."

Leia looked mildly appalled, but said nothing to chastise Han – but unexpectedly, he went on, hesitating, in case his next words angered her.

"I don't know, Leia. Maybe Luke did have a hard time. He can be…secretive. You said he spent all that time alone, away from you," Han shrugged warily. "Maybe the Force is helping him."

"Han Solo," Leia murmured, "singing the praises of a hokey religion."

Han smirked a little.

She sighed and shifted her legs a little, biting gently on her fingernail as she sank into her own thoughts.

"Do you want to hear something strange?" she asked suddenly, her voice soft.

"Hmm?" he grunted.

Leia hesitated a moment.

"Luke," she began, "was very shaken, hearing those – select gory Death Star details," she said, clearing her throat, perturbed by how almost poetic her phrasing sounded. "I think it rattled his tranquility, concerning Vader."

Han's jaw stiffened.

"It's about damn time something did," he griped. "I know he sees it different, but he's needed some kriffin' perspective – what does that change, anyway?" Han continued, bristling. "The torture, the destruction of a planet? _That_ he can forgive, but he gets squeamish over – " Han broke off, shaking his head angrily. "There's somethin' wrong with that, Leia – I'm not sayin' one thing or another was worse for you, and I'm not – taking anything lightly but why is that what bugs him? 'Cause he thinks it makes you dirty?"

Han's expression was sour, dark, and Leia studied him a moment, compressing her lips.

"Luke's not that kind of man," she said finally, her breath catching. "I think he recognized…the particular horror that would have existed in a father inflicting something like that on a daughter."

Han swallowed hard, she saw his throat move even in the projection, and he looked away, closing his eyes a moment.

"I'm glad it finally hit Luke that Vader is more unforgivable in my eyes than in his," she went on, "but what's strange about it is that I – I couldn't let him think that," she confessed, barely above a whisper.

"What?" Han asked tensely. "Let him think what?"

"That Vader was responsible," she answered in a small voice. "I corrected him. I reassured him. I told him it was Tarkin's decision; that Vader disapproved."

She swallowed hard, eyeing Han earnestly, wondering if he understood.

"I defended him," she whispered uncertainly. "I defended Darth Vader."

"No, you didn't," Han snapped immediately. "You tried to make Luke feel better, like you always do. It wasn't a defense, it was just the truth. Would make a better story, anyway, if Vader'd just snapped Tarkin's neck right in front of you, for acting alone."

"Tarkin was one of the Emperor's favorite pets," Leia said flatly. "There was no chance of that."

Unspoken, she let the rest remain in the space between them – Vader may not have ordered her assaulted himself, but he hadn't had enough humanity to particularly care that it had happened.

"Why would I even bother, Han?" she asked, leaning forward, her eyes wide, uncertain. "Why would I take the time of day to clear that bastard's name of anything, even for Luke's sake?"

It had been bothering her since she did it – because it had taken supreme effort to get the words out to Luke. She was still so unused to it being public knowledge – as public as the insinuation was – that she'd been subjected to that kind of abuse that she froze up mentioning it, but still, she had tried to settle his mind.

Han rubbed his jaw, and then sat forward, his face filling the whole projection.

"Leia, you can't stand to see people you love suffer," he said tiredly. He grit his teeth for a moment, apparently deciding whether or not he wanted to go on, and then sighed heavily: "and deep down, sweetheart, I think you're desperate to find something that redeems him. Even if it's just some half-assed, tiny speck of something."

Leia shook her head wordlessly; she didn't like to hear that, she didn't want to think it – even if there was some truth in it. She was resigned to her hatred, and no amount of anything could redeem that malicious black shadow – not for her, not for the galaxy he'd subjugated.

"He's so far beyond redemption," she gasped, her voice cracking, even as Luke's words from Endor echoed through her head – _He killed the Emperor, Leia. He repented._

"I guess you'll find out," Han said dully – he had no idea what the Viceroy could have to tell her, but he had a gut feeling that it had to start somewhere at least marginally good.

There was an instinctive, cold part of him that grimly believed if it had all been bad from the very inception, Luke and Leia would have been smothered rather than saved.

"Yes," Leia said faintly, slumping back into her chair. She felt small, and alone. "I will."

"You got some decent way to deal with this, Princess?" Han asked after a moment, eyeing her warily.

"Meaning?" she sighed, tilting her head guardedly.

"Meaning, that's a lot of pressure," he said tensely, "sitting in those tribunals all day, and then going home, and hearing a ton of stuff about Vader, who you don't handle well, anyway," he ignored the look Leia was giving him – she was just huffy because he knew her that well, "I'm not gonna come home and find you drunk on the floor or somethin', am I?"

Leia's mouth fell open slightly, and she scoffed at him, affronted.

"That has _never_ happened," she pointed out dignified. "You – the only time you have ever found me _drunk_ on a floor is the time _you kicked me out of your bunk_ ," she reminded him, narrowing her eyes.

Han held up his hands, grinning.

"Aw, Leia – I didn't mean to kick you out," he pointed at his own chest charmingly, "I was drunk, too – I thought you forgave me for that!"

She gave him a mock critical look – of course she'd forgiven him for something that happened two years ago, while inebriated, on the way to Bespin, when he'd still been getting used to the fact that she slept in his bunk at all – but it was fun to let him think she was holding a grudge.

"I broke a nail," she accused seriously.

"You broke that nail on my belt buckle!" he fired back.

She still fixed an astute glare on him, and sniffed quietly. She was comforted to know he was concerned about her, pleased as always with his uncanny ability to tacitly reassure her that he found her whole, normal, and completely worth loving.

Han never treated her like she was fragile, even when she was standing in front of him as vulnerable and unstable as a person could be, and that was an invaluable thing to have around.

"We should do that again," Han said, giving her a suggestive look.

"I don't have any interest in being rudely ejected from your bunk again."

"I mean the drunk part."

She waved her hand, inclining her head dramatically.

"I'm having several drinks tonight," she confessed wryly.

He arched his brows.

Leia smiled softly and leaned forward.

"I'm not in the Tribunals for the next week," she said, backtracking slightly. "They're in recess – and knowing what I have to face tomorrow, Winter is coming over tonight, for some," she sighed, "much needed girl time."

Han looked extremely interested.

"Slumber party?"

"Whatever you're thinking, Han – "

"Pillow fights?"

Leia rolled her eyes.

"She's bringing champagne, from Chandrila," she informed him, "and, she's found out that a man she was sweet on back on Alderaan survived – I'm going to track down where he's stationed for her."

Han looked taken aback.

"How…?"

"He was one of our pilots, an Imperial defector," Leia said. "Tycho Celchu – a TIE fighter who was talking to his mother when the Disaster happened."

Han sat quietly for a moment, reflecting with dread on what that must have been like – a conversation cut brutally, inexplicably, and devastatingly short.

"Never worked with him," Han grunted.

"No, he was in the underground network," Leia said softly. "Where I should have gone."

Han nodded, looking at her for a moment. Then he put his hands behind his head and leaned back, giving her a charming smile.

"So, you gonna talk about me with Winter?"

She arched a brow and gave him a noncommittal look.

"I suppose she'll want to know if you're any good in bed," Leia said sweetly.

Han smirked.

"Am I, Princess?"

Leia just gave him a maddeningly coy smile, and any retort he might have followed it with was cut off by the appearance of a large, furry head in the glittery blue image; Chewie roared a hello to her, pleased to see a smile on her face.

Leia laughed, nodding a hello at him.

"Yes, Chewie – remember what I said, about those flower crowns," she teased wryly.

 _[I'll make sure Han doesn't lose any of the domestic traits you've trained into him while we're gone.]_

"Domestic – what? Flower crowns?" she could hear Han griping in the background. "Why are you two always in on something together?" he demanded.

Chewie grumbled mysteriously, gave Leia a smile, and returned the focus to Han – she swung her legs off the desk, leaning forward.

"Winter will be here soon," she said, sighing – she reached up to rub her shoulder firmly, taking a moment to just stare at him. She gave him a stern look. "Stay out of trouble on Tatooine, Han."

"Don't let your old man send any bounty hunters after me," he retorted.

"He doesn't know any."

"Ha," Han snorted eyeing her seriously. "Leia, _that_ man is a guy who knows bounty hunters," he asserted confidently. "He knows at least one. Just in case."

"He's Alderaanian," Leia argued. "Pacifism."

"Yeah," Han said loudly, "and I bet old Bail Organa found a lot of _peace_ in knowing a bounty hunter he could call to wreck someone who threatened you."

Leia smiled a little – possibly true; she couldn't be sure. Her father had always been more even-tempered than her; even in the Clone Wars, he had been – mild, not a brute warrior at all.

"I love you," she told him quietly.

Han nodded.

"You comm me if things go bad tomorrow," he said seriously. "Hell," he added, "comm me to fill me in."

She nodded back – she doubted she would, right away, and she was likely to prefer telling him in person, but if she needed him – she wouldn't hesitate and he'd answer, immediately when he could.

Leia stood up to sign off, pausing a moment to smooth her dress out. She glanced up, watching him watch her, and smiled, clearing her throat as she leaned forward, her fingering lingering over the _end call_ button.

"Han?" she called sweetly.

He lifted his brows expectantly, deciding to leave him with the answer to a question he'd asked _much_ earlier.

"I've got that purple lingerie set on, with the gold stitching."

She watched recognition light up his face immediately, but she cut the connection as he leaned forward – because she really, really couldn't afford to let it turn into _that_ kind of call, only to have Winter interrupt at an inconvenient moment. He was probably abusively swearing at his comm unit back on the _Falcon,_ but – she'd make it up to him.

Leia sat down on the edge of her desk, turning and facing the large window that occupied the back wall of the home office. She narrowed her eyes, squinting in the fading rays of Coruscant sunset, and took a very deep breath – she had, she told herself – this one last night to exist without the burden of inalienable truths.

* * *

 _happy independence day to all americans! the original brexit!_  
 _this is my favorite holiday so i decided to post a chapter to celebrate_

 _-alexandra_


	20. Nineteen

_a/n: another really, really long chapter. though, considering ... family history time! also, disclaimer (sort of?) there's a lot of Leia not being nice to anyone in this chapter! yay! sort of a defense mechanism for someone who has to come to grips with the fact that her birth father, you know, tortured her and destroyed her homeworld and didn't really care that his right hand man had her assaulted. anyway. onward._

* * *

 _ **Chapter Nineteen**_

* * *

On the evening that Leia had determined she, her father, and Luke should convene for what she'd internally dubbed 'the pivotal conversation,' she ultimately chose to take care of cooking herself. She could have hired someone, but that just seemed excessive, or she could have ordered something for delivery, but that seemed too lazy. She doubted food would be the main focus of the night, so she didn't mind subjecting her family to her mediocre culinary talents.

The knowledge that she could cook – albeit only average dishes – was fascinating to Bail, and she hoped the notion assisted in acclimating him to the many ways in which serving on the front lines had shaped her in the past few years. She'd also, once again, refrained from cleaning up the possessions Han had left strewn from one end of the apartment to the other. Though she'd made it clear he was a somewhat forbidden topic of conversation, a part of her thought tangible reminders of his presence and importance would subliminally adjust her father to it.

As it were, they were waiting for Luke – who, despite all of his glow and eagerness, was slightly late – and Leia was poking the meat she had in a searing pan with an unnecessary level of concentration.

"Who taught you to cook?" her father ventured – it had to be his tenth comment on the subject.

Leia picked up a knife and cut into the steak, glaring at the pink suspiciously – too pink, or the good kind of pink? Han would know. Frowning, she straightened slightly and placed a clear lid over the pan, listening to the crackle. She considered Bail for a moment.

"An innate desire to survive demanded I develop some sort of ability to feed myself," she answered dryly – much of her education had come from hovering around surreptitiously watching Han do it, until one evening before Hoth when he'd made the comment that it was adorable how dependent she was on him for food, which of course sent her storming off to her quarters resolved to learn to cook for herself.

Leia lifted her brows.

"I had tutors in everything," she remarked mildly. "You didn't think cooking should be one?"

Bail tilted his head thoughtfully.

"I suppose it didn't occur to me," he conceded. "Far be it from me to rob the kitchen staff of their gainful employment," he added. "What would they do if all of us could cook?"

Leia laughed shortly – suave answer, if he was trying to find a good way to cover for leaving out a relatively important skill from her repertoire of education.

"But, it's a good thing I can perform the official dance of fourteen different planets."

Her tone wasn't caustic, but put into perspective the stark difference between her life on Alderaan, and her life now. Leia tilted her head at the simmering dish.

"This will be overdone," she said frankly. "I err on the side of tough-to-chew versus kills-the-dinner-guests." She almost mentioned that were Han here, dinner would be to die for, but she was trying very hard not to bring him up unnecessarily. She didn't want the night to devolve into an interrogation – or a fight – about him.

Bail nodded politely – dinner was hardly the most significant part of the evening. He kept trying to find innocuous things to talk about while they waited for Luke to arrive – and he supposed dinner would have to consist of rather light conversation as well.

Everywhere he looked was a reminder that Leia did not live in this apartment alone; a pair of men's leather boots in the corner, a vest over a chair, a leather jacket over another chair. He kept being struck with a sense of shock that his daughter was old enough to be living with someone – and what he'd taken to doing, when he was finding it hard to cope with the expanse of time he'd missed, or things in general, was imagining his wife's counsel, and letting his memory of her, and his approximation of what she would say, calm him down.

' _B, perhaps she doesn't live with him. Perhaps_ he _lives with_ her _.'_

 _And what_ , he'd retort, _is the difference there_ , _Breha?_

He imagined her laughing, a wise, mischievous look in her dark, lovely eyes. She'd no doubt tell him that the semantic meaning of it was that their intrepid daughter had the man wrapped around her finger, and Bail couldn't decide if he was pleased with that idea or extremely annoyed with it.

' _But for all your concerns, darling, does she look happy?'_

He reminded himself constantly that no matter who Leia directed her affection towards, Breha would earnestly worry only about her happiness before anything else. He equivocated on the answer, though – _I don't know if she seems happy, Bre, but if she's unhappy, it's not because of him._

' _Then let it be, Bail. Let it be.'_

Bail cleared his throat, longing tugging at his throat, and building in his chest. If only he had Breha here with him –

"Father, do you want a glass of wine?"

Leia's voce broke abruptly into his thoughts, and he looked up, blinking. He only hoped his years of diplomatic training had ensured none of his heartache was written on his face – this evening wasn't intended to be about his troubles.

He nodded.

"Hmm," Leia murmured, running her finger along a rack lightly, eyes intent. "Corellian Red, Corellian White, an aged Selonian rosé, a Selonian dry red, Corellian spiced – "

"Is any of it not Corellian?" Bail asked.

Leia's hand paused, and she glanced over, her expression slightly withering.

"I just mean," he recovered hastily, "Corellian alcohol has always been a bit – overbearing, for my tastes."

Leia turned back to the selection.

"That is the worse metaphor I've ever heard," she muttered under her breath, tilting her head as she reached back.

"I have a white wine punch from Naboo," she announced, "Winter left her Chandrila champagne here - and there's a bottle of distilled melon wine from Hapes that I obviously have not opened."

She picked up that bottle and looked at it with interest – she actually was interested in trying it, but it had been given to her by Prince Isolder's delegates, and the last time she got it out, Han had very immaturely attempted to wrestle it away from her and throw it out the window.

She looked at her father expectantly and he looked glumly at the fruity choice in her hand – all of _that_ sounded too…feminine; underwhelming.

"Whiskey?" he asked.

She compressed her lips.

"It's all Corellian."

Her father raised his eyes to the ceiling. Leia sighed, taking pity on him – he was obviously diligently trying to avoid the Han conversation as well.

"There's also moonshine from Malastare and something Chewbacca gave me that may not be digestible for humans."

Bail looked interested suddenly.

"Is it in a silver and green bottle?" he asked.

"Ah," Leia began hesitantly, looking. She set the melon wine aside. "Yes," she confirmed slowly, with mild surprise, pulling it out. She gave her father a curious look.

"It's a liquor from the nuts on their Wroshyr trees," her father said pleasantly. "Warm, but not cloyingly sweet."

"It is edible?" Leia pressed. "Not dangerous to humans?"

"Not physically – only in the manner all alcohol is dangerous to humans in large amounts."

Leia shrugged – she'd never tried the stuff, or heard of it, before Chewie left it as a gift. She took a glass, examined it for spots, and portioned her father some of the liquor. She paused, glanced at him, and then poured more into the glass pointedly - he probably needed it. She delicately slid him the glass, and then fixed herself a glass of the spiced wine, and plucked a bottle of Coronet City's finest from a shelf, pouring a shot or two in with the meat.

It sizzled, and Bail peered closer with interest.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked.

Without looking at him, she lifted both brows a bit.

"Where do you think, Father?" she asked gently, waving her hand lightly at the bottle – _Corellian_ whiskey. _Han taught me everything_ , she thought, _cooking, gambling how to throw a knife with deadly precision_ , _and a hundred other things fathers never want to hear about their daughters._

Her father took a rather large swallow of liquor, at that, and looked a bit gloomy. She couldn't resist smirking a little.

She straightened up abruptly, and turned to him.

"Luke's at the door," she said. "Can you let him in? I'll set the table."

He looked consternated.

"He's – what? How do you - ?"

The door chimes sounded, and Bail stared at her with an open mouth, his glass held loosely in his hand. Leia gave him a look to nudge him, and he cleared his throat, compressing his lips, setting his jaw, and nodding hurriedly.

She turned off the stovetop and shook her head to herself, her stomach shivering uncomfortably. She wasn't particularly hungry, but she supposed she had to eat something. She took a steadying sip of wine before going about gathering plates, listening to the distant, muffled polite greetings her father and Luke exchanged in the foyer. She listened to their footsteps, and assumed they'd gone straight to the dining room, and she was relieved for a moment of peace to compose herself.

She had steeled herself for this, and she was determined to see it through – she had fluctuated throughout the day between starting to hope Luke was right, that it couldn't all be terrible, and giving into her more pessimistic nature: of course it was all terrible, there was no chance it was a good tale.

Even reminding herself Mon Mothma had indicated it was at least somewhat heartening was not helping, as a little voice in her head then reminded her that Mon Mothma was the same woman who had tried to marry her off in the name of politics and apparently thought she was an ineffective leader due to her involvement with Han.

So, perhaps the woman Mon Mothma would want to hear about wasn't evil; perhaps she was just an elitist bitch.

Leia tightened her jaw grimly at her own caustic thoughts, commanding herself to cool it. This was the moment when she needed to clear her head, to operate as if she were going into political mediations as a third party negotiator: she needed to be as blank a slate as possible, so she could take in the facts – it was an impossibly unrealistic thing to require of herself, considering how raw and personal all of this would be, but she tried to conform to it nonetheless.

She considered teasingly asking Luke to levitate all the food into the living room, but she guessed he'd give her some sort of stammering soliloquy about using the Force properly, so she smiled to herself and refrained. Since her father was present, she wouldn't be able to retort with a reminder of how pornographically he'd apparently used the Force back during the Rebellion – if there was truth to Han's gossip.

Luke was hovering near the chairs, bouncing on the balls of his feet when she came in with the meat and rice, placing it all in the center of the table on a serving tray.

"I'm – sorry I'm late," he apologized sincerely. "I was at the temple – and on my way here, I ran into Dansra, and I couldn't brush her off," he trailed off, flushing slightly.

Leia gave him a slightly amused look and nodded, gesturing towards the kitchen.

"It doesn't matter if you're late," she said simply. "Wine?"

"Water," Luke countered, inclining his head thankfully.

"Dansra Beezer?" she heard her father ask politely, as she went to fix Luke a glass.

"She's a friend," Luke answered, and Leia snorted quietly. "Excellent pilot, excellent," Luke was saying earnestly, as Leia came back in.

She gave him his glass and sat down, perched on the edge of her chair. Watching Luke thoughtfully, she wondered where he'd sit, and he chose the seat next to her without hesitation – which left them both facing Bail somewhat like enthralled children.

"It's got to be wishful thinking on my part, but I half-expect she has some minor Force sensitivity – she's very perceptive," Luke said.

"Doubtful, I'd think," Bail said heavily. "The Empire did a remarkable job of sensing that and rooting it out – young children have difficulty controlling it, and those sorts of children were identified and disappeared. Or rather – accidents happened to them."

Luke blinked, perturbed, oddly fascinated.

"Leia and I didn't disappear," he pointed out.

Bail inclined his head hesitantly.

"You were both being vigilantly protected by a select few people who knew how to disguise anything that registered alarms," he said slowly. "Many parents encouraged strange skills because they didn't realize what it was a manifestation of, and that attracted unwanted attention."

"But if we couldn't control it, how could it be hidden even if we were protected?" Luke pressed. The utensils he'd picked up were limp in his hands, while Leia held hers tightly, her eyes focused on her plate. She cut her food with stiff precision.

"According to Obi-Wan – at least, from what I understood – undeveloped and untrained sensitivity, if it was ignored, became latent, ah, dormant, almost. More subtle in ways. It's why the Jedi used to take infants into the order and raise them with full knowledge and constant acknowledgement of their potential," Bail hesitated again, "and I'm – I'm almost positive Master Kenobi assisted in ensuring the both of you would not exhibit any power."

Leia's knife scraped across her plate, and she flicked her eyes up, her mouth tightening.

"He messed with our heads," she remarked coolly – not sure if it was an accusation or an affirmation.

Luke leaned forward earnestly.

"Shielded us?" he asked.

"No," Bail said softly. "No one tampered with your psyches – not yours," he said, nodding firmly at Leia. "I wouldn't have allowed it. I can't speak for you, on Tatooine – though Obi-Wan's considerable presence would have masked yours, if he was discovered."

Leia's expression did not change.

"How is that not messing with our heads?" she asked crisply. "How are we to know our personalities aren't irrevocably damaged?"

Luke turned to her slightly.

"It's not like that," he said breathlessly. "I know what he's talking about. I sort of – sense it, I felt something," he moved his hand, folding and unfolding his fingers, carelessly dropping his fork, "unfurling, the first time I trained with Ben," he explained, with wonder in his tone. "As if I was tearing down a wall."

Bail pointed at him.

"I suspected Master Yoda instructed Obi-Wan in a way to insulate the internal core of Force sensitivity – whatever that is, wherever it lies. As I said, I'm no Jedi and they are quite protective of their methods, their art," he paused, "of course it helped that no one was looking for you."

Leia said nothing; she sat back, holding her fork delicately at a straight angle, prongs piercing into her food. She stared at her father, eyes guarded, and he looked back at her for a moment, shaking his head slightly.

"You still broke through that insulation," he said quietly.

Leia's face remained unmoved, but Luke leaned forward even further.

"What happened?" he asked eagerly.

Bail kept his eyes on his daughter, and then turned to Luke, a smile touching his lips.

"She was sitting on her bed in the Palace of Antibes, refusing to have her hair brushed," he said mildly, "they – her governess, and a servant - called me in to intervene. The governess went onto a balcony while I, ah, threatened to take all of her toys away, but she was ignoring me and staring at the governess, and she," Bail paused, "she flung a laser ball across the room and out on to the balcony. It broke the banister."

Leia compressed her lips into a thin line.

"It revealed that the foundation of the balcony was not secure. If the governess had leaned on the railing, she would have fallen to her death. Leia saved her life."

Luke sat back, his expression stunned.

"How old -?"

"Four."

Luke looked incredulous.

"And sensed the balcony was dangerous – that's outstanding, that's – but how was it covered up, how -?"

"Memily – the governess – told my wife and Leia's aunts, innocently of course, praising her. Leia had other out of the ordinary reflexes, though, and rumors reached the Imperial Palace, where Palpatine was still doggedly hunting down the Jedi and their descendants. He sent two inquisitors, one of whom was a former Jedi apprentice who had abandoned his vows to return to his family," Bail hesitated, "he still respected the Order, and he sought to use his position to save those he could. He convinced the Emperor there was no truth to the rumors and at Obi-Wan's request he later settled on Alderaan to be there if we needed to – essentially blame Leia's power on someone else."

Bail turned his eyes back on his daughter.

"His name was Ferus Olin, but you knew him as Fess Ilee."

Leia lowered her hand slightly, her face still a careful mask.

"I hated Fess," she said quietly. "I hated him."

There was a small, knowing smile on Bail's face – because Fess had always been lurking, foiling Leia's attempts at mischief and interfering when she plotted to sneak out or cause a ruckus.

"I know," he said gently.

She put her fork down and lifted her hand to her lips, brushing her fingers over them.

"I was nasty to him, Father," she said coldly, "and you say he was there to die for me, if he needed to."

Her father's expression was grim, and she felt awash with guilt, with shame. Who else in her life had been so secretly hidden there to protect her? Who else had been that selfless only to be treated with contempt and disrespect by the wild young Princess?

"You never did anything quite like what happened with Memily again," he said gently. "Fess was Obi-Wan's eyes in the core worlds."

Leia looked away, her hand still at her mouth.

"I loved Memily," she murmured – she remembered none of this, but she wondered if that had something to do with the uncontrolled use of the Force in itself. The few moments around her use of the Force in her office, with the paperweight, were blurry and undefined.

"So, you were always more powerful than me," Luke said, his eyes on Leia's profile. "I never did anything – I don't think. Well, I was a good pilot – I don't think my skill with womp rats counts," he mused, "and Uncle Owen's doom and gloom attitude would crush anyone's propensity for power," he snorted, shaking his head. "I wonder why Obi-Wan took me, then – wanted to train me."

Bail blinked.

"Oh, well that's – " he seemed quite embarrassed suddenly. "I – forgive me, Luke, I'm not sure how to say this without sounding terribly rude but my wife and I wanted a girl. It came to be all Breha wanted, after a while, and I wanted her happiness and – well, quite frankly, Alderaan values women in leadership."

Luke shrugged, a lopsided smile on his face.

"That's okay, Tatooine was nice," he said breezily.

Bail arched one eyebrow skeptically.

Leia turned her head sharply.

"At the very least, it wasn't eviscerated," she said harshly.

Luke's face fell, his eyes filling with an apology. Leia heard it echo through her thoughts before he said it, and she nodded, her shoulders falling a little, accepting the remorse – Luke was lucky, secluded on his lonely desert planet, never rearing his head and drawing the ire and attention of the Empire, never being forced to watch innocent people answer for his opinions, and answer for – Leia looked at her father – his agenda, his schemes.

"Leia," began Bail quietly.

She held up her hand.

"Might we finish dinner before we dive into this teeming web of falsehoods?" she asked, somewhat sarcastically, an eloquent but dangerous edge to her voice. "Leaping right into it is going to shatter my nerves and I'd so hate to inadvertently fling a knife across the room."

Luke clamped his mouth shut, swallowing.

 _Leia, he thinks it's impressive – he wasn't implying you're evil._

His voice murmured through her ears.

 _This isn't fascinating for me_ , - she burst through their connection loudly and he flinched away _, this is_ _finding out everything I thought was true may be an illusion._

Luke rubbed his ear.

"You don't have to _shout_."

 _I wasn't shouting._

"Yes, you are!" he whined aloud, and then noticed that Bail was watching them with trepidation, his utensil clutched tightly in his hand.

Leia sat back in her chair defiantly, and her father asked:

"Can you read each other's thoughts?" There was fascination in his voice, wondering curiosity, and Luke rubbed his ear again, shooting Leia a moody look, before he answered.

"It's more complex than that," he muttered. "We can sense the words and feel the tone and it reads as a clear language, but it's the Force – "

"It's mind-reading," Leia interrupted flatly. "In the vernacular, it's mind-reading," she added, an aside to Luke.

He felt nothingness crop up beside him, and knew the connection was severed. He leaned away from her just slightly. She lifted her wine glass and took a sip, gesturing almost mockingly at her meal with a smooth, masked expression on her face.

"I would like to finish this glass of wine before I hear more about my carefully constructed destiny," she said caustically.

"Leia," Bail admonished sharply – she was sure he was reacting to her tone, and how callous she was being, but she said nothing in response, simply lifting the wine to her lips again. Perhaps he was even chastising her for the drinking, but she kept her eyes on his defiantly as she drank it.

"It's okay," Luke said softly. He swallowed. "It's a lot to take in – I, I've been, wired all day, too," he faded off a little, picking up his fork. "I bet it's delicious, Leia," he said.

She forced a skeptical laugh.

"Okay," he amended realistically. "I bet it's decent, Leia."

Bail silently turned his attention to dinner, and Leia slid one hand between her knees under the table, pressing her legs together tightly until her knuckles dug into her kneecap. She'd felt uncertain and dizzy as soon as Luke and Bail started to feed off each other, and no matter how much she'd prepared herself for all of this, and known it was coming, she suddenly didn't think she could do it.

What was the old saying, the old saying – ignorance is bliss? She'd always thought it was a foolishly naïve adage, a silly, childish way of thinking: all knowledge was better than ignorance – but now she wasn't so sure. Less intelligent people, less informed people – did seem to be more content overall.

She already knew too much; did she want – need – to know more?

"How's Han?" Luke asked blithely.

Leia turned to him in disbelief – what kind of bantha-brained, clueless little – nerf – went directly from one difficult topic to another.

She grit her teeth.

"He's fine," she ground out. "Thank you for asking – would you mind swallowing your tongue?"

 _"Leia!"_ Bail snapped, incredulous.

Luke looked both abashed and amused.

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood!" he said, and narrowed his eyes mischievously. "This is payback."

 _For your Dansra snooping._

She turned up her nose at him and turned with great interest to her food, beginning to eat.

"Rouge would be delighted if I spent this entire evening finding ways to change your mind about General Solo," Bail remarked evenly – he was careful to keep his tone light, unwilling to be taken seriously. "Did you know that her primary reaction to my telling her about Anakin Skywalker was to insist that made it imperative you marry someone from an Elder House?"

Leia swallowed her food with an unreadable expression.

Remarkably, that reaction reminded her of Han's none-too-eloquent response: simple, and absurdly lacking in horror or devastation.

"What?" Luke laughed, putting his hands to his ribs in amusement. "That doesn't make any sense," he snorted.

"Rouge is one of those old fashioned souls who thinks all people defer with reverence to the Elder Houses," Bail said simply. "She would assume Leia's acceptance in their courtrooms absolved her of all sins, whether they be sins of birth or sins of her own."

Leia picked up her wine glass again.

"Adultery wouldn't be forgiven," she said shortly. "The members of the Elder Houses don't take kindly to heirs with questionable parentage."

Bail looked confused a moment.

"To them, I'm your parent."

"I meant the fact that my children might be Han's, even if I was married to some soft idiot from the Elder Houses."

"Leia," Bail retorted, an odd expression on his face. "We're at the dinner table."

She arched a brow at him.

"You wouldn't dare speak so suggestively in the dining hall in Antibes – "

"Well, good thing I'm in an apartment on Coruscant," she retorted, "where I live with my illicit paramour."

Bail gave her a withering look, and she tilted her head stiffly towards her brother.

"He started it."

She tapped her finger lightly against her glass, examining the liquid in it tensely. She didn't know why she was baiting her father; he hadn't been particularly aggressive or rude, he'd just tried to go along with Luke's lead – he kept attempting to move forward, and Leia seemed determined to remind him at every moment that her previously soft edges were sharpened to dangerous points.

She felt disturbed, suddenly, and small to know that now Rouge, too, knew about Vader – and she wondered what Rouge really thought. It seemed a blessing that Rouge simply suggested they quickly force Leia on a Prince before she could be stripped of her respectability and nobility and branded a bastard of nefarious origin; at least Rouge hadn't immediately washed her hands of her niece and recoiled in fear.

Leia paused, though – then, perhaps she and Luke weren't bastards, in the legal sense. She wasn't sure why she kept assuming that they were – oh, yes; because Jedi were celibate and Anakin Skywalker had obviously started his long and brutal career with the usual sort of rule breaking that indicated a lack of respect for well-meaning institutions.

"Rouge actually seemed most disturbed that General Solo knows," Bail ventured, almost to himself. "She seemed to think it was dangerous information he could hang over your head."

Leia's eyes fixed on his coldly.

"Disabuse her of that notion immediately," she said sharply, her voice hoarsening. Han would never – even if, in some awful, unimaginable time in the future, her relationship with Han ended and they broke things off, he would never betray her.

Bail inclined his head.

"I'm not as unreceptive as Rouge is, Lelila," he assured her simply. "It seems there's little that can be done to influence your opinion of the man."

Leia was quiet a moment, swirling wine in her glass.

"There's nothing that is going to change my mind about Han, Father," she said quietly, abruptly unable to keep herself from saying something, from assuring him that even jokes about this needed to stop – he needed to understand that while she accepted he required time to cope with the new world he was living in, that coping had to include adjusting to her relationship with Han, not focusing on her and then later grudgingly deciding he might consider Han a factor.

Her father's face was intent for a moment, and he raised a brow.

"Nothing?" he asked skeptically – but he didn't seem to be asking because he was determined to snatch her out of Han's clutches, he seemed to be suspicious that her stubbornness wasn't wise.

But she knew Han, and she trusted him, and she had faith that he would never purposely do anything that would cause her to doubt his fidelity and his love.

She considered him intently.

"Well," she began, deadpan, "if you're about to inform me he's another secret brother, I might reconsider."

The Viceroy smiled slightly at the jest – sheepish, almost – and raised one brow.

"You ' _might'_?" he quoted.

Leia shrugged.

"I love him quite a bit," she said, the words spilling out unapologetically.

It was a joke, but she was so far gone in her feelings for Han, she doubted blood affinity would change a thing – though she knew she had nothing to worry about; kissing Han felt nothing like kissing Luke – something watchful in her soul, and in her blood, had warned immediately upon kissing Luke that there was nothing there – nothing.

Her father was suddenly looking at her with consternation, with quiet reflection, and she felt unnerved – what had she said that provoked such troubled introspection to flood across his face? Nothing out of the ordinary had come out of her mouth, nothing ribald, nothing –

"You've not used the word love before," Bail said abruptly.

Leia faltered, lowering her glass. She pursed her lips, taken aback.

Luke looked down at his food, clearly very uncomfortable suddenly. He started to pay attention to his utensils, and eating, with diligence that mimicked Leia's practiced focus when he had probed Bail about the Jedi.

"I," Leia began faintly, her voice gaining strength after a moment: "Yes, I have."

"No," Bail retorted firmly, gently. "You have not."

Leia leaned back hard in her chair, her hand resting on the table, fingertips pressing into the flat base of her glass – hadn't she? No, she supposed she hadn't. She'd – well, wouldn't screaming and raging about how in love she was simply sound immature? Wouldn't she then just sound like a little girl blinded by infatuation rather than a grown woman who had fought herself for her own happiness for years, who had clawed and torn her way into this final haven where she was able to accept the love Han offered, and return it?

Was part of her father's concern, his consternation, originating from the fact that he thought she was just cavorting with a lover, running around scandalously and running her mouth to foreign princes for the mere sake of a _fling_?

"You think I've gone so far as to live with a man I'm not in love with?" she asked softly, her gaze transfixed on him. "Father, I love – "

The words slammed together in her throat though, trapped; stuck. She compressed her lips to keep them there, in case they tried to escape – it was on the tip of her tongue: _I love him so much, I asked him to leave you stranded if it meant I got him back in one piece._

With effort, she swallowed effusive declarations, and sharp, damaging explanations, and she cleared her throat softly.

"Luke is not interested in this," she said briskly, forcing an edge back into her voice. "This is for you and I; later."

Her father was still staring at her with a studious intensity, and Luke looked up, his face a bit red, and a perturbed, pinched expression defining his mouth.

"You nixed the two most relevant topics! They're just standing in the corner like – like – big, dumb Dewbacks!" he pointed out. "What are we supposed to talk about?" he asked, making a fair point – this whole dinner was supposed to have a purpose, and Leia was churlishly refusing to let it get to the core – but she couldn't help it – she was clinging to these last few moments of ignorance like they were the coordinates to the Yavin Rebel base.

"Eat your dinner," Leia ordered.

Luke gave her a baleful look, and Leia turned stubbornly to her father.

"Is Aunt Rouge pleased with the idea of planning a grand gala in honor of Alderaan?" she asked diplomatically.

Bail looked a little amused, and Luke groaned quietly.

"It is her element," Bail said. "I think it's done wonders for her, given her something to do – it's taken her mind off Winter, at least; the poor girl has been the recipient of all the squawking and concern Rouge has been unable to give you."

Leia sighed, shaking her head.

"She's now even gotten it into your head that if you're a lost cause, at least Winter can be properly preserved."

"Preserved as in…?"

"From young men with impure thoughts," Bail said, a feminine edge creeping into his tone as he mocked his sister.

Leia snorted quietly, picking up her wine.

"Well, that ship has leapt into hyperspace and made it to the Outer Rim," she muttered – Leia may have been the politically ambitious, shrewdly intelligent, tomboyish prankster on Alderaan – but Winter had been the kind of sexually adventurous that Leia had only dabbled in.

Her father dropped his fork.

"We've only been back a month," he said faintly.

Leia matter-of-factly returned her glass to the table.

"The ship flew out of Alderaan," Leia corrected vaguely.

"And just who - -and when – " Bail held up his own hand to stop himself. "Don't tell me anything. I don't want to know," he decided flatly.

Leia nodded solemnly – he really didn't. Bail would through an absolute fit if he knew what his assistant senatorial aide was doing with Winter when she was sixteen.

Luke leaned back, tapping his plate with his fork. He looked between the two of them uncertainly, cleared his throat innocuously, and then pushed his hair back with his free hand.

"Leia," he said bluntly, "you're doing exactly what you used to do to Han when he hit to close to the mark," he accused – intuitively, but gently. "You're skillfully redirecting and it's only delaying the inevitable."

He saw her mouth tighten, and she fell silent.

"Well," she said icily, "the solution to that was trapping me in the godforsaken depths of space for five weeks with no escape."

Bail opened his mouth to question that, but Luke cut him off.

"That isn't an option now, and you're making this worse – I'm anxious, and apprehensive, and you're second-guessing this whole thing, and we need to get through this so we can move forward – "

"Forgive me if I'm wary of discussing the bleak specter of this – family disaster – over dinner."

"Then when, Leia? Over drinks in the sitting room? When is it going to be pleasant?"

She had nothing to retort; her mouth was dry.

"I always wanted to have this conversation with you," Bail spoke up earnestly, his voice pained. "Things have gone so – far awry – "

"You don't think this is unsavory dinner talk?" Leia snapped at him, thinking of his admonishment earlier. "Darth Vader and his foolish, simpering – whoever she was – "

"I don't think Darth Vader existed when we were conceived," Luke started.

"Leia," began Bail carefully.

" _No_ ," she said, loud and commanding. "Surely you understand," she raged, "that from the instant I found out about – about him," she could no longer bring herself to say the name, not in this moment, "I've been dreading finding out who my mother was – who his power hungry, nihilistic consort must have been – what kind of woman aligned herself with a tyrant – "

"Leia," Bail interrupted, saying her name again – this time with more authority, with sharpness.

"I don't want to hear it," Leia continued, abandoning all of the work she'd done to prepare herself – the moment was here, and she rejected it. "I don't want another shadowy specter in my life ruining my perception of myself, ruining, _ruining_ – "

"It wasn't like that – she wasn't like that!" Bail broke in again, raising his voice. His palm descended on the table, flat, a smack – harsh and intimidating. "You won't suffer for hearing about her."

The forceful movement of his hand influenced her a little, reminded her of childhood reprimands, awakened a little of the old reverence she'd had for his authority and his awe-inspiring place in her life, but she still balked at the conversation; she was able to resist his rebuke.

"You're so sure?" she demanded – challenged. " _How_?"

"Because there is no one – no one, Leia, no decent being, who would have said an unkind thing about her, who would have called her anything but principled and honorable," Bail told her emphatically. "Not even Vader himself."

In a fit of speechlessness, Leia closed her mouth. She fell back in her seat, withdrawing into herself, building internal fortresses around her heart and soul. She felt protected in silence, even in the face of his insistence that it would be alright – when it was clear she wouldn't speak again, Bail cleared his throat carefully.

"I can answer what I can answer," he said with openness. "I don't think this should be a clinical narrative," he ventured. "I think you two should lead. Pose questions."

There was a charged silence following his words, electric, crackling. Then Luke said, cautiously.

"Who was born first?"

It took a moment for his question to register, and then Leia slowly turned her head in disbelief, looking at him incredulously. Her father, too, looked baffled that Luke had chosen – _that_. Luke's jaw twitched and he glanced at Leia, bristling defensively.

"I thought you might be more comfortable with a less loaded question first!"

She continued to look at him with an incredibly intimidating dubiousness, but Bail decided Luke had a point, and leaned forward, pressing his fingertips together, elbows on the table.

"You were," he said simply, inclining his head at Luke.

Luke smiled brightly.

"This is already not going as Leia wants it to," he quipped, but he was careful not to sound too carefree.

"I have no desires concerning this conversation," Leia said curtly.

Bail took a deep breath.

"I was there when you were born," he revealed.

"Where were we born?" Luke asked.

"Polis Massa," Bail supplied. "It was an archaeological research outpost in an asteroid field, Outer Rim," he explained. "It later became a safe haven for desperate Jedi."

Luke swallowed hard – so if it was still around, he could search the remnants for clues concerning the old Order – the Force, and their legacy. He filed that information away; he filed away anything and everything, and his attention was rapt as he asked –

"Why there?" he twisted his hands together. "I mean, that's so – I've been assuming that our mother was a fellow Jedi, and I suppose that would make sense?" His voice went up at the end, questioning.

Bail hesitated, and Leia chose to break her silence. She felt – she felt suffocated, and she decided sharply and suddenly that Luke's attempt at easing her in was actually not what was best, though she appreciated him for it.

"Who was she, Father?" she asked bluntly. "What was her name?"

Bail sat up straighter, bending forward at the waist, his expression very determined, respectful.

"She was Senator Padmé Amidala Naberrie, former Queen of Naboo," he revealed. "She was twenty-seven years old when she died. I gave you her middle name, Leia," he said heavily, "because she was a remarkable woman, and that she could never know you – or you Luke," he paused, "that she never even held you was – one of the most significant tragedies I think I've ever witnessed."

His heart was heavy; the loss of Padmé, his friend, was undeniably dwarfed by the magnitude of losing Alderaan, of losing his own love, Breha, but there was still significant sadness in the calamitous way her life had ended.

Across from him, the twins were silent, small in front of him – almost equal in height, subdued, thoughtful – and so quiet. Slowly, Luke turned and looked tentatively at Leia, and show bowed her head, eyes flicked down.

"Naberrie," she said quietly, speaking to no one, speaking only to herself. She looked up again, and looked at Luke, then her father. "I know," she said softly.

 _Somehow, I've always known._

"You know of her?" Luke asked reverently.

Leia shook her head a little.

"I know there was a young Queen of Naboo who stood against an invasion when she was only fourteen," she recited, a wisp of a memory from her lessons, the ghost of a barely remembered history lecture. "I know Pooja Naberrie's aunt was murdered during the Clone Wars and that for a very long time, her family was banned from public service. But this Queen," she paused, turning to meet Luke's eyes, "her name was stricken from records. Obliterated. She was a phantom. She somehow made it into my schooling," Leia sighed, "but I have never heard her name before."

"She was the last ringing voice of protest in the old Galactic Republic," Bail said. "She sat next to me while it crumbled."

Luke leaned forward involuntarily, his throat tight. So she was – not a Jedi, then, not a Force user, but good; someone just and admirable, someone Leia could accept. At least he thought – he thought she sounded like someone whom Leia could accept, but they were only scratching the surface, and Leia – Leia had fallen precariously and utterly silent. Luke didn't know what to say – Leia had the last question, so maybe it was Leia who should continue to speak.

When she didn't, Bail placed his hands flat on the table, dinner, drink, everything else abandoned.

"I'm afraid I must admit my own ignorance concerning much of this story," he confessed. "I was Senator Amidala's friend, and I was Obi-Wan Kenobi's friend. I knew Anakin fairly well, but not well enough to understand his mind, or decipher his motives. Even Obi-Wan agonized over what the final straw had been – though Master Yoda very often attributed it to his training beginning too late. Back then…when I knew him, Anakin Skywalker was one of the most successful warriors of the Republic."

Luke leaned forward, feeling cold suddenly, apprehensive.

"What do you mean, his training began too late?" he asked – edgy, worried. "I – I never touched a lightsaber until I was nineteen, and Leia," he broke off.

Bail shook one hand, frowning.

"The Jedi Order was not merely an organization in my time, but a way of life. Force sensitive children were raised utterly in the cocoon of the Temple, inundated with the Jedi values, taught from an early age to serve only others, to never form attachments," he explained. "Anakin was – I believe he was – I'd say nine or ten years old when he was found to be so incredibly powerful in the Force, and I heard Obi-Wan mention more than once that it was incredibly difficult for him to leave his mother. He didn't have the years of foundational indoctrination."

Leia's eyes remained guarded, her mouth thin as she listened – listened hard, and listened well, but without looking too interested. Her father had captured Luke's undivided attention with mentions of Anakin, and Leia was still lost in the name Padme.

"So," Luke began carefully. "The Larses – were they my true family? How do they play in?" he asked.

Bail twisted his hands together a moment.

"Owen Lars was your father's stepbrother," he said. "Anakin's mother married Owen's father after she was freed from slavery – and I – well, I don't know that I know what happened to her," he admitted, "though Padme told me once, in her worry over Anakin, that he'd never quite recovered from her death."

Leia's attention was suddenly piqued though, and her tone was sharp when she asked:

"Slavery?" She swallowed, turning her head. "Anakin Skywalker's mother was a slave?"

Bail looked at her, nodding slowly.

"Anakin Skywalker…was a slave," he said. "He was freed by Obi-Wan's mentor, Qui-Gon Jinn, and Senator Amidala during the very invasion you remember her for. It had something to do – with a pod race, a large one – "

"The Boonta Eve Classic," Luke interrupted, in awe. "But – it's a _myth_ that a human ever won that, humans never win – "

"This human did," Bail said. "He was a remarkable pilot. The best I'd ever seen." Bail paused. "That's where Padme met him – on Tatooine. She was Queen of Naboo at the time – older than him."

Leia parted her lips, her heart racing. Her eyes felt – hot, and stinging, and she shook her head, a thin layer of anger in her voice when she spoke.

"At what point in this nostalgic story does the little slave hero grow up to be the galactic slave master?"

Bail leaned forward and rubbed his temple, a troubled expression on his face.

"I can't – I find it difficult to explain that," he said, his voice falling, resigned. "I am more familiar with – Padme's side of things and, Leia – I was never quite sure he was the father of her children until she was near death," he swallowed hard, saddened by the memories. "She never publicly discussed her pregnancy. Officially she was unmarried and unattached and anyone who questioned it was met with a sharp rebuke from her." Bail shook his head a little, peering at Luke over his hand. "Anakin was frequently at odds with the Jedi Council," he admitted. "He was impulsive. Passionate," Bail hesitated, "I think he felt it was unconscionable that he should have to sacrifice the chance to love if he wanted to be a Jedi."

Leia folded her arms protectively around herself, her fingertips digging into her elbows. She grit her teeth together tightly, and shook her head somewhat.

"I don't want to hear any more about him," she said shakily. "You can regale Luke with these wistful romances later – go back to her," she requested forcefully. "Did she consent to him?"

"Leia, she _married_ him," her father returned, matter-of-factly. "Under the nose of the Jedi Order and the whole blasted Republic, they were married for three years – he broke his vows, and she never breathed a word of it – this can't be easy for you to hear, but the Padme I knew _loved_ him."

Leia looked away.

He was right.

It wasn't easy for her to hear.

It was – impossible. There was no – fathomable way that a man who had the capacity to turn as dark and twisted as Darth Vader could be lovable; there was no fathomable way that a reasonable woman couldn't see the signs.

But – still, Leia felt something rise in her chest; a deep, clutching sense of despair, of horrified heartache. It was her own distress at knowing how much suffering her birth mother must have endured, and perhaps a memory, a remnant of that early despair she'd told Luke about – crushing, irreparable heartbreak.

Her eyes stung with tears, and she repressed them, biting the inside of her lip hard.

When she turned her head back, she knew the tears weren't going to fall, but she caught her father's eye meaningfully.

"He killed her," she choked out hard, unsure how she knew – but confident in her assessment.

Luke swallowed, sinking back heavily against his chair, and she sensed from his posture that he accepted Leia's intuition. She felt his presence next to her dampen, and she suddenly reached out to touch his hand, grasping it in hers very tightly.

"It's more complex than that," Bail said heavily.

She felt Luke's fingers twist in hers, squeeze hard.

"Tell us," he said.

Bail rubbed his temples again, sighed, and leaned forward.

"The Clone armies – abruptly turned on their Jedi commanders; mass slaughters took place simultaneously. There was a massacre at the temple that was," he continued very cautiously, "carried out by Anakin Skywalker, which led to Obi-Wan's discovery of his – fall. He went to Padme to warn her – and she thought she could save him. I know Obi-Wan went with them, and I know that Anakin considered – he considered her trust in Obi-Wan to be a betrayal," Bail's voice droned on, loud in the silence, hollow and gritty, "Anakin injured Padme. Obi-Wan prevented him from killing her and there was – some sort of brutal duel. Obi-Wan left him for dead, and brought Padme to Polis Massa. She was – vitally, she was alright," he said, resigned, "but she'd been through a lot," he started to continue, stopped, and just sat back, leaving it there.

He swallowed silently after a moment, and cleared his throat.

"We knew you would both be in danger if the Emperor knew you existed," he said, "so, Master Yoda and Obi-Wan ensured Padme was buried as if she had died before giving birth, and you were separated – you sent to your family, Luke – and Leia, you came to us," he finished softly.

Leia's face remained the same, her conviction unshaken.

"He killed her," she repeated.

His hands may not have physically stolen her life, his weapons may not have cut through her flesh, but the loss of everything she'd put her heart and soul into, and the loss of a man she must – she must have seen beauty and comfort in – had destroyed her, cell by cell, and he was responsible for her death in that way – Leia held him responsible in that way.

"She suffered," Bail agreed respectfully, "and she – there's a strength needed to recover from something like that, a will that has to be there, and for a moment – she lost it," he paused, "as I said, not much else has been – quite as disheartening as her death was to me – to the world."

Luke pulled his hand from Leia's, grabbing his shoulder. He took a deep breath, his face pale, shaken.

"What about us?" he asked desperately. "She had me; she had Leia," he pleaded. "Weren't we a reason to live?" His voice cracked. "She just – she gave up on us?"

Leia felt the sharp stab of sadness that emanated from Luke, and it pierced her like a knife – but it inflamed her, set her skin alight, rattled her to the core – and she turned to him wildly, knocking over her wine with her wild gesture, rising out of her chair.

"You spend your days adoring the demigod you think Anakin Skywalkers was – you preach, and you proselytize, about forgiveness, and the light, and the peace I would find in absolution for Vader – and you have the nerve to condemn _her_?"

Leia deliberately dropped her mental defenses, and Luke grabbed his ears, pressing his fingers to them, wincing – as if he were hearing unbearable, high pitched ringing. She showed him what she remembered from her earliest consciousness – she made sure he felt it. Her memories of her mother, the one dark, suffocating emotion she felt from her earliest consciousness.

"If that is your reaction to her death, you tell me how you'd survive feeling _this_ ," she raged harshly, "and trying to cope with the idea of caring for two babies under the threat of having them hunted down and slaughtered."

Leia flung her chair back from the table, her heart pounding angrily in her chest, her hands shaking. She felt that rush of blurriness she'd felt in her office but this time, she clenched her fist and reigned it back in.

"Leia," her father began stricken.

She stepped back, holding up her hand, shaking her head.

"I've heard enough."

She abandoned the room and the both of them, fleeing towards the sitting room, struggling with the locks on the balcony door and finally stumbling out into the night air, where the eerie hum of vibrant city lights mixed with late night Coruscant traffic deafened her, and she threw herself against the railing, her mouth open, unsure if she was going to vomit or scream.

She closed her eyes tightly, and she was shocked by how quickly the burning anger in her veins disappeared, replaced by sadness and a fierce sense of kinship – oh, how much it had hurt to lose Alderaan, to lose all that she'd loved, and if Padme had given into the sweet surrender of oblivion when her daughter had refused to, Leia couldn't blame her.

It did hurt, it hurt to know that she and Luke weren't enough, but the ache for respite was something Leia was brutally familiar with, and she passed no judgment – Padme had to have watched her whole world explode in front of her, too, all the while knowing her other half was responsible – Leia had only discovered the true depth of Vader's depraved treachery after he was dead.

She imagined for a brief second Han turning against her like that, and she couldn't breathe. It was strange, how a singular tragedy could seem so much more cataclysmic than a grand one - it made no sense for her to think losing Han would be worse than losing Alderaan, but Alderaan was almost something too big to ever really grasp, the loss was almost so incomprehensibly devastating it was just a numb reality, but to lose the person you committed your heart and soul to -

Leia covered her face with her hands, straightening up, forcing herself to take deep, shivering breaths – so she wasn't a fiend, a monster; her mother wasn't a throwaway victim of a man who had always been sinister, but a respected leader, a fighter – Bail was right, Leia didn't suffer for hearing about her, but she suffered in empathizing with Padme's broken heart.

She touched her face and felt no tears.

As in the moments after Alderaan, she couldn't cry.

She heard a noise at the door, and Luke was standing there, his face full of contrition, raw, wringing his hands.

"Leia, I'm sorry," he whispered sincerely, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean – I imagined her _fighting_ to the death for us and it seemed – like such a blow, to – to die of a broken heart?"

"Luke," she gasped thickly, her throat aching with the effort of speaking. "If you don't think you can die of a broken heart, you've never had one."

He bowed his head, raising his arm to his eyes, clearly in the throes of his own tears. Leia looked away, touching her cheeks lightly – had his heart broken for his aunt and uncle, had it broken for Biggs Darklighter, had it broken for Ben Kenobi? Luke's life was devoid of the deep, satisfying kind of attachments she had always had, and there was a sadness in that, but she envied his lack of understanding here.

"I," Luke began, speaking thickly from behind his arm. "I only wanted to hear – I don't blame her, or resent her, Leia. I wanted to hear that at some point in my life, I'd been loved as much as you've always been loved in yours."

Leia lowered her hand from her face, staring at him – remembering how he'd remarked that he was never _really_ Owen and Beru's child; he was their nephew, and he was fed, and cared for, and given a place to live, but it was not the home Leia was given. It wasn't in terms of privilege that he meant, either – it was in terms of home in the sense that she always had a place where the love was unconditional.

She moved forward and took Luke's shoulders in her hands, squeezing them gently. She nudged his raised arm with her forehead and moved it out of the way, catching his eyes. She tried to smile, but it was too difficult right now, so she just looked at him sympathetically, her lips compressed. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, and he bowed his head against her shoulder.

"Well, I love you," she said reassuringly.

She couldn't tell him she'd loved him for his whole life, because she'd been deprived of him for so much of it so far. But she did love him, enough that it had made Han nervous even after she broke into a Hutt's palace to save him, and before he knew they were siblings.

A throat softly cleared, and Bail came to stand behind Luke, still within the apartment, hesitant and solemn, his hands folded into his sleeves.

"I must speak for her," he said. "You mustn't think Padmé didn't love you. These things are…so devastating. Perhaps somewhere in her heart, she knew the both of you would have a chance, a safer chance, if it was believed you were dead with her. She never would have been safe."

Leia looked at her father over Luke's bent head.

"Luke if you lacked love with the Larses…I can only say that if I could have guaranteed your safety, I would have taken you both."

Luke lifted his head from his sister's shoulder, stepping away and shaking his head a little – his foster parents had been good to him, despite Owen's gruffness, despite Beru's simple acceptance of the quiet farm life. They were genuinely good people, and he appreciated the sacrifices they had made to take him in and keep him safe.

"I'm alright," Luke whispered. "I need – meditation. The Jedi Temple," he cast his eyes at Leia uncertainly, apologetic, and earnest.

Leia's eyes did not waver, for even as Luke lamented what she had on Alderaan, she asked herself in a soft, careful, shuddering whisper if it had been as her brother imagined it, or if she'd always been the sharp point of a spear meant right for the Empire's heart – a weapon, constructed for battle, rather than a beloved daughter.

"I understand if you need time," Bail began carefully. "If you wish I can clean the table and return to the Embassy –"

"No!"

The word escaped from Leia without warning, desperately – her eyes widened.

"I don't want you to leave – I don't want _either_ of you to leave," she insisted, surprising even herself. "I don't want to be alone all night," she said, stepping back, collapsing in a chair on the balcony, "I only want to be alone for a moment," she whispered.

She put her head in one hand, and heard footsteps as someone shuffled away – Luke, she sensed, because a moment later, a shadow moved over her, and she felt her father's hand cup the back of her head as he bent to press a soft kiss to her temple.

She startled him when she lifted her head and leaned into the touch, tilting her head up to meet his eyes.

"You aren't quite finished answering for yourself, Father," she said, her mouth trembling – but somehow, she gave him a very tiny smile – a hopeful one – wasn't the worst of it over? "Go. Go and talk to Luke about V –" she started, and stumbled, her voice catching. "Talk to Luke about Anakin," she amended, with some difficulty. "Tell him everything you know. He's got the purest heart, but he's so much more hurt than I ever give him credit for."

Bail crouched down, eye-level, as if to assure himself she was okay – that she had it together. The concern in his eyes was palpable, and she looked down at her, both grateful for it, and unsure of it.

"Go," she said again, softly, half-expecting him to ask her to come back as well, to hear more of this – and he didn't, that's not what he said at all.

He said:

"Lelila," in a quiet, understanding voice, "I am no Jedi. I have never quite grasped the nuance of the Sith's consumption of the original man. If I had known then what Darth Vader would do to you – I would have ripped Anakin Skywalker limb from limb."

She looked at him, and there was something eerily satisfying about hearing this man from his pacifist world promise her that he understood her struggle, he understood that she couldn't quite grasp that there was a line that defined the two identities Luke so clearly differentiated.

She nodded, and he rose, kissing her temple again – and he acquiesced to her moment alone, leaving her in the electric hum of the Coruscant night, leaving her to draw herself together second by second, minute by minute - until she felt composed enough to rise, return to the interior of the apartment – and seek out a shower.

* * *

Leia emerged from the 'fresher with a quieter mood and a clearer perspective – as she often did. Scalding hot water showers always seemed to sluice off anything unpleasant on her skin, and give both her body and the world around her a knew sheen with which to face the next battle. She'd paid careful attention to her hair: combing it out and twisting it into a tight fishtail braid. She'd splashed cold water on her face and rubbed on a moisturizer, lingering in her solitude, and then donned her favorite pair of Han's pants – pale blue, with the gold bloodstripe, the ones she'd worn on Endor – and a cozy sweater, and she'd returned to the livable rooms of her apartment.

There, she found that her Father had done his diligence in cleaning up the barely eaten dinner, and he'd managed to find where her kettle was and brew water for tea, and he was sitting thoughtfully – tensely, but thoughtfully – on the sofa, his eyes on a muted holovision.

She listened to the kettle whistle gently, and watched her own image on the screen; a projection of her communicating with press outside the courts, while the scroll along the bottom ran the results of a poll that had been asked concerning General Solo's whereabouts.

Forty-eight percent guessed Bail Organa had incarcerated him.

Leia smiled a little, and folded her arms, clearing her throat softly.

"Where's Luke?" she asked, when her father turned towards her, one hand resting on his knee.

"Ah," Bail said quietly. "Well."

"The temple?" she guessed softly.

Bail shook his head, his lips turning up.

"I put him to bed – in one of the spare rooms?" There was a question in his tone. "There's a hammock in one of them," he noted, confused, "so I put him in the other one."

Leia's brow furrowed, affectionate, but taken aback.

"The hammock is Chewbacca's," she murmured. "He mostly stays with the _Falcon_ , but I couldn't not have a room for him," she trailed off a bit. "You put him to bed?" she asked, quoting him.

It sounded so oddly – parental, and Luke was so very much not a child.

"He was falling asleep, waiting for you," Bail sighed. "He had a full glass of whiskey," he added. "I take it he doesn't drink often."

"Ever," Leia murmured, with a quiet laugh as she went to take the kettle off the stove. "He doesn't enjoy it," she noted.

Bail laughed.

"Ah, so he's not a saint, he just has faulty taste."

Leia's lips turned up at that, and she gathered two mugs, opening a small cabinet with small boxes full of different teas. She bought the kind that came in compact little spheres, so that when it was dropped in hot water it slowly melted and fused into the liquid. It seemed more fulfilling than the old tea leaves in bags.

"I don't have any Alderaanian teas," she said. "Would you like – "

"Let me guess," he said, his voice echoing from the living area. "Corellian."

She wrinkled her nose to herself and plucked two tea spheres that were made from the root of flora on Kashyyyk and found her way to the living room, sitting down on the sofa with her father. She dropped his tea sphere in the mug, handed it to him, and inclined her head.

"Kashyyyki," she said demurely. "As it were, Corellian tea is terrible."

Bail smiled at her guardedly, and wrapped his hands firmly around the mug.

Leia drew her legs up, resting her mug on them, and considered the holovision for a moment. The news had moved on to something else, and she was relieved to see her face was gone – she wondered briefly what Han was doing. She took a deep breath, and then a long sip of tea that was still so hot, it nearly robbed her of her tongue.

When she lowered her mug, she was looking not at the holos, but her father.

"Did you tell him everything he wanted to hear?" she asked softly, a feigned fanciful edge to her voice. "Soothe him with bed time stories about his larger than life Jedi father?"

She wasn't being malicious, but she still wasn't receptive to the idea of Anakin Skywalker, Hero of the Republic, either.

"I believe he was satisfied," Bail said neutrally. He considered her a moment, and peered at his tea. "You – don't wish to know anything?"

Leia compressed her lips, and shook her head.

"I don't, right now," she said carefully. She paused, and then blinked, re-thinking it for a split second. "No," she corrected softly. "Let's do this – for the moment, I want you to tell me one thing about him that you think will redeem him. That will make me feel better."

Her father looked at her, stunned, his mind working ferociously behind his eyes. How could he – how could he possibly answer that? Nothing occurred to him, nothing at all, which would mitigate somehow the things that he'd inflicted.

Slowly, Bail shook his head.

"I don't think I can, Leia," he said heavily. "I think you would find it deeply insulting if I tried to mask your experiences with stories of a man whose soul was dead long before you met him."

Leia's knuckles turned white as she gripped her mug – she nodded stiffly, and she felt relieved, _relieved_ because that was what she wanted to hear. She wanted to know that he understood that for now, forever maybe, she was unable to separate the man in the mask from Anakin Skywalker.

"No more about him," she said, very softly. She traced her finger around the rim of her mug. "You know, he's been controlling his image for years now, even after death – he struck," she hesitated with the name on her lips, "Padme's," it felt strange to know the woman's name, "name from history – he took away her voice," she murmured. "I could stand…to hear about her."

In doing so, in learning about this woman, perhaps she could see what had drawn her into an affair so volatile and consuming, it somehow ripped the galaxy at the seams.

Leia reached up and patted her hair, a fluttery gesture of anxiousness, pretending to fix stray strands.

"This knowledge is so fresh, maybe it'll settle," she said apprehensively. She looked back at him. "I can't imagine ever thinking of her as my mother," she admitted. "I – well, Mama is my…mother."

She faltered as she said it, because the sentence structure was strange – but it was stranger to call her mother _Breha_.

Her father understood, though. He nodded, a warm, wistful smile on his face.

"Padme would have been relieved to know you were taken care of – both of you," he assured her. "I don't think it's an insult to her that you valued Breha so much."

Leia pressed her hand to her chest.

"Value," she corrected. "I think about her every day."

Bail nodded – he did, as well; every second, of every minute, of every _hour_ , of every day. He cleared his throat, clearing away the urge to cry. Breha would never know any of this – to Breha, there was simply no concept of Leia having ever belonged to anyone else. He imagined himself telling her the truth, all of it, and like clockwork, his fantasy of Breha's voice, infused of everything she'd been, echoed in his head –

 _Leia's mine, B, and that's that._

Bail cleared his throat.

"The only reason you heard about Padmé – about that infamous Queen of Naboo," he noted, speaking up slowly, "is because Sabé slipped it into your lessons. She couldn't bear that Padmé's name had been stricken from memory. I know Sabé didn't dare teach you her name, but she was one of the last people who was unafraid to remember her."

"Celly told me about her," Leia murmured. "No," she reflected. "Celly told me…that Amidala was the name of a Senator from Naboo you were _inappropriately_ close to."

Bail smiled grimly.

"There were more than a few people who thought I was the father of Padmé's child," he sighed heavily. "I couldn't allow the rumor that she was your mother to go too far, considering," he waved his hand wildly – with Vader alive, and well aware of who Padmé's paramour had been, it was too dangerous. "I reminded Celly that Senator Amidala died before coming to term, and forbid her from speaking the rumor again."

Leia sipped her tea – two barest hints of clues, impossible to string together; Padmé Naberrie's name stricken from everything, erased from history. Not just because she was a dissident, Leia was sure, but because the reminder of her was a ghost Vader rejected.

Her brow furrowed.

"Why was Sabé so faithful to her?" she asked – she remembered Sabé well; she'd been a wonderful tutor; skilled in all sorts of disciplines and a loyal, wise confidant, to boot.

"Sabé," Bail said, "was one of Padmé's dearest friends. She worked as a security decoy for her when she was queen. She fled to Alderaan after a spy cell she was working in was raided and the Empire executed most of her contacts. She knew I'd find her a haven."

Leia swallowed hard – and Sabé had died when Leia was fourteen, arrested and later killed while visiting a relative on Hosnian Prime. She had been accused of dissidence – it had been one of the most defining moments of Leia's political life.

"Did she know who I was?"

"No," Bail answered. "There were four of us in the world who knew Padmé gave birth before she died."

Leia studied him intently, and then shook her head.

"You, Ben Kenobi, Master Yoda," she listed slowly. "Mon Mothma."

"Actually, not quite," Bail said, surprising her. "Sheltay Retrac."

Leia's eyes widened.

"Winter's mother," she breathed.

Bail nodded.

"I tasked her with keeping you safe while I handled things with the Naberries," he explained. "The thing was, in the midst of everything that was going on, I told her I was going to make sure Padmé was safe, and when I came back with an infant – there was no fooling Sheltay," he said, smirking a little. "When she heard the news that Padmé and her unborn child were dead, she said nothing – but she didn't know about Vader. She cared for you those first few hours," Bail said heavily, "so when she and her husband were killed fighting slavers – I owed it to her to make sure Winter was taken care of."

Leia gazed at him, transfixed – her tea forgotten, cooling in her hand.

"Mon Mothma, now," he shook his head, thoughtful. "As the Rebellion coalesced, I started laying contingency plans; I needed people to know pieces of your history," he said. "She was so close to Padmé in the last year of the Clone Wars, so I told her about you, knowing she'd be able to accurately represent Padmé if I couldn't do it – and it turned out that Padmé had told her about Anakin long before anyone else knew," Bail said, laughing dryly. "So I was in my office, telling Mon, thinking she'd be delighted to know you had survived, and she stared at me with her sharp eyes and said 'My god, Bail, do you have any idea whose child you're raising?'" Bail sighed, lifting his mug. "After that, I told her everything."

Leia, her throat tight, took a shaky breath.

"You never thought you'd see the end of this fight, did you?" she asked hoarsely.

He shook his head solemnly, but matter-of-factly.

"Your survival is what mattered," he said frankly. "Yours, and Luke's. Obi-Wan and I intended to be the lightening rods, and to take the secret to the grave, until Master Yoda was confident in both of you."

Bail trailed off, shaking his head.

"Of course, the best laid plans," he broke off again.

Leia leaned forward sharply.

" _Were_ there plans?" she asked. "Bona fide plans – was there a grand scheme?" she asked desperately. "Were you ever going to tell me about this? How – how did you imagine telling me," she faltered, compressing her lips.

"You have to understand that it was dangerous for you to have any inkling. It was the _single_ most dangerous thing, for you to know – especially once you took an interest in your own political career, rather than falling back on your position as a princess," he said earnestly.

Leia said nothing – and despite her pride in how she'd resisted Vader, she knew he was right. Things would have been different if she'd known – so different. As it stood now, she had faced the Sith lord with confident defiance, firm in her conviction to never tell him what she knew about the Alliance, ready to die with the intelligence kept secret in her mind - but if she'd known who he was, her relationship to him, fear of him finding out might have distracted her, crippled her ability to resist him. Her ignorance of her own power and heritage had, in some way, protected her from revealing herself.

"When you brought Obi-Wan to Alderaan from Tatooine, _that_ was to be the moment. You seizing those Death Star plans, that was – bold, and unexpected, and it was desperately needed to fight our cause but it was the crucial moment that – "

"Upended everything," Leia murmured.

Her father had sent her to fetch an aging Clone Wars veteran, and she'd found herself presented with once in a lifetime chance, grabbing intelligence that she thought could save them all, and save the world – and it did, but not before Alderaan paid the price.

Bail reached out and took her hand, squeezing it.

"Leia, believe me – I never thought he'd take you, and on the chance he did – in all of my life, I never thought he'd, I never thought," Bail's mouth went dry. "I miscalculated. I watched him for years – I consulted with Obi-Wan, and we agreed that his remarkable lenience towards you had to mean something – no one else in the Senate had ever gotten away with opinions like yours for quite so long – and I was wrong," he said hoarsely. "Obi-Wan was wrong. Leia – "

She swallowed hard, shaking her head, pulling her hand away gently. She held up her palm a little.

"Father, I know you'd never deliberately endanger me, but I can't talk about that," she said, averting her eyes. "I can't discuss any of it. You don't want to hear it and I, I," she took a breath, curling her fingers into a fist. "I don't blame you, but when you start to martyr yourself – part of me wants to," she whispered, "so just – leave it. Things did not go as planned."

He nodded, his face pale, and she turned slightly, lowering her feet to the floor. She stared at the muted holovision a moment, and then cast around for some new mystery to flesh out, afraid to really give into silence because then she wasn't so sure she could hold it together.

"Why aren't the Naberries dead?"

"What?" Bail asked shortly, taken aback.

"Why isn't every single Naberrie dead?" she asked logically – detached. "The most famous member of their family was so hated by the Empire that they erased her. Why weren't the rest of them executed?"

She thought of Pooja Naberrie, so smart and witty, such a good senator in her own right. If she remembered correctly, Pooja had a sister. A sister, and – her parents were still living – which meant, Leia's aunt and uncle, by blood.

Bail looked thoughtful, troubled – it was a purely political question, and so astute. He'd often wondered, too, why the only retribution that had unleashed itself against the Naberries was utter exclusion from the political arena, until Pooja had appeared.

"Do you want to hear my guesses?" Bail asked finally.

She inclined her head.

"I want to say that mass execution of the Naberries would have shifted public opinion against the Empire – which, at the beginning, was favorable. Killing them, silencing them, would give credence to the idea that Senator Amidala was a serious threat, rather than a thorn in the side – however, I don't think Palpatine would have cared, once he consolidated power," Bail said, "so," he continued carefully, "I would hazard a guess that it was Anakin Skywalker's final act of mercy before Vader consumed him."

Leia retreated into her tea for that one, hiding her face in a long draught from the mug. She wasn't sure she could believe that, but why else - ?

"So," she said quietly, lowering her mug. "They're alive. There's this whole – enclave of my blood on Naboo," she mused. "Did they know what became of Anakin Skywalker?" she asked. "Did they know who her lover was?"

"I can't answer that," Bail admitted. "I don't know to what extent Padmé was honest with her family. However," he hesitated, "when the time is right, and when the dust is settled – I can reach out to them for you and Luke. They would be delighted to discover you – most of all Jobal. Her fears that Padmé would sacrifice all forms of personal happiness for the service would be somewhat assuaged, in you."

Without asking, Leia supposed Jobal Naberrie was her grandmother. She felt short of breath at the thought of these people – she wondered how she'd ever meet Pooja Naberrie's eyes again knowing the same blood flowed in their veins, wondering if she had known the man before he was the scourge of the galaxy.

"They will have believed that Anakin died," Bail warned gently. "Those who knew of him assumed he had died, when he disappeared."

Leia nodded – and perhaps that was the best. The circumstances were so murky – he had emerged from the ashes of the Republic and the Jedi Order a faceless suit of horror, threat and power personified, and those few who knew the terrible truth of his once heroic identity had silenced themselves.

"If the galaxy were to hear about Anakin Skywalker again," she ventured tightly, "if – if Luke used his name, if his war records were recovered – how easy would it be to make the connection?"

 _How long until every being in this wide, wide world knows who I am?_

"This universe is so big, Leia," Bail said solemnly. "There are so many shadows. So many places to hide secrets and records. When information is free again, with Luke as famous as he is – I don't know. I don't know."

"And what if you were dead, Father?" Leia asked quietly. "What if you were out there with the dust of Alderaan, and there was no one to tell her story, to tell _this_ story? Would I ever have known a damn thing?"

Bail set his mug aside, and sat forward.

"Yes," he answered, startlingly quickly. "Mon Mothma, to ensure you knew of Padmé – furthermore, the astro-droid I sent with you on _Tantive IV_ , the Artoo unit? Master Kenobi was capable of unlocking the buried records of the Old Republic stored in his memory bank," he explained, "and Threepio's memory could have been restored with a binary key inside of Artoo."

Leia's mouth fell open.

" _Threepio_?" she burst out – Threepio, of all things – bane of Han's existence, finicky nightmare – to think that obnoxious golden nimrod had all of this stored deeply in an erased memory, and he'd been so close to her for all these years.

Leia stared at him in consternation – it wouldn't have mattered, as Master Kenobi had died too early anyway, and perhaps, perhaps they'd never have been sure –

"What does Threepio have in his memory – "

"Not much for you," Bail said quietly. "He was built by Anakin."

She visibly recoiled, nearly spilling her tea. It sloshed loudly, and she swallowed, pressing her lips together hard.

"He doesn't even know he was built by Anakin, Leia," Bail soothed.

She clenched her teeth – she'd lived with Threepio before, she'd trusted him, had him in her home – found him a place to be a protocol droid to his heart's content when one time, right after he was back from his campaign against Zsinj, Han had threatened to dismember him and set each piece of fire for pleasure if he ever had to speak to him again.

Although, on that note –

She breathed out slowly.

"I'll have to tell Han," she said mildly. "He'll be delighted."

Bail looked at her quizzically.

"He'll use it as an excuse to shoot Threepio," she said bluntly.

Bail's brow darkened, an irritable sort of scowl. Leia smiled just a little, breezily reminded that there was that to come next – but not tonight, not tonight. Too much had happened tonight – and she needed to check on Luke, before she went to bed, and send Winter a note to tell her things hadn't gone completely disastrously, and she needed to leave a message for Han himself –

She licked her lips, taking a long, deep breath and letting it out slowly. She leaned forward and set her mug down, and then she rested her elbows on her knees, perching her fingers lightly at her temples and looking down.

There had been so much to take in, and it had been a very long time since she had so intensely allowed herself to feel as many things as she uncontrollably felt tonight. She'd like another glass of wine, and she needed sleep – deep sleep, if she could manage it.

"Leia?" Bail ventured. "I can tell you more about her," he offered. "Her political views, the things she did for her people," he listed softly. "She would have been fiercely proud of you."

Leia's lips trembled. She shook her head.

"No," she said softly. "No, there's time enough for Padmé Naberrie," she licked her lips, her heart racing, thinking of everything she'd known and believed as a child, thinking of Alderaan, of her mother – _Breha,_ her mother – of her father, and her aunts, her career, everything she'd learned and every moment that maneuvered her to the instant she stood before Vader on the first Death Star. "There's only one more thing I want to know tonight."

Bail listened with trepidation, nodding.

Leia kept steeling herself, over and over, and then looked up.

"I want to know if my life was ever _my life_ ," she said in a harsh, anguished whisper. "I want to know if I had my own choices or if my only purpose was to strike at the heart of Darth Vader. Was I your daughter or was I just – was I just the key to a carefully constructed coup d'état? Was any of it real? Luke is so envious of this life I had, of how cherished I was – were you my _father_ , or were you – was I just – "

He reached out and touched her cheek, silencing her. He looked at her with focus, clear focus, a pained, tense muscle standing out in his temple, hesitantly resting his other hand on her shoulder.

"Leia, I took you to Alderaan with no ulterior motives. I took you to Alderaan to give you a home, to protect you, to ensure that out of all that mess of darkness, one bright light emerged – and Breha and I loved you as much as we could have possibly loved any child of our blood. I sent you to school and I gave you a life and I tried to shield you from my workings with the Rebellion. I wanted you to thrive. I wanted you to live, and I wanted you to be your own person."

She listened to him, her heart in her throat – in vivid flashes, she remembered him refusing to let her run for the senate, only cautiously initiating her into galactic politics – _Alderaanian_ politics, he immersed her in, but she remembered clearly how he'd tried to keep her out of the Alliance –

"Whatever happened, whatever path you took, it had to be your own choice, and nothing I did was going to stop you from being someone who refused to stand for injustice – two old, failed Jedi may have intended all along for Luke to face his father in the end, but I struggled to make sure that when you chose to fight, it would be your choice – and so help me God, I'd have died before I let you be sacrificed against your will on the altar of some other generation's mistakes."

He paused, his voice tight, and hoarse.

"You were ours, Leia. You always were. You always will be. You _were_ loved."

Leia reached up and covered her face, her hand shaking. Tears spilled out of her eyes and she bowed her head.

Her father caught her and pulled her close, placing her head on his shoulder. His palm covered the back of her head lightly in an old familiar touch; paternal, soothing, and wholesome. She clutched his shoulders and lost herself in the old days, when embraces like this from him were the only balm her soul ever needed, when her faith in him had been unshakeable and inspiring – and she let herself remember why.

He had been a good father, the best she could have asked for – he still would be, in the months to come.

Things could go forward from here. Things could move, could progress, could solidify, and become real. If she could look at him as her father again, her beloved, trusted father, and he could see her as a grown woman who had struggled with this, who grappled with power she didn't understand and trauma she had never been prepared for, then they could find a new equilibrium.

She didn't think for a moment that this one night cleansed everything, solved every problem, bridged every gap, repaired every broken piece, but with her head on his shoulder, and the cobwebs cleared from the darkness of her family history, there would be a more certain road ahead.

* * *

 _so, now we're over that hump  
don't worry, don't worry, we'll see some Han next chapter_

 _-alexandra_


	21. Twenty

_a/n: okay, I don't want to say filler chapter, because that makes it seem like Han isn't important ... and he does some important stuff, but ... (whispers: filler chapter). *important end note at the close of the chapter._

* * *

 ** _Twenty_**

* * *

Technically, Han thought, as he cast alert and wary eyes around the cantina, there were currently _less_ people in the galaxy who wanted to kill him than ever before. Jabba the Hutt was dead, and none of his weaker slug buddies gave a damn about Han Solo – who had clearly 'gone legitimate' and was no longer a threat to their dwindling cartel – and since for a time, Han had been avoiding Jabba's bounty hunting scum _and_ the Empire – and everyone he'd ever pissed off in his entire confrontational life – life under the New Republic was a statistical improvement in terms of likelihood of death.

That sure as hell didn't mean he let his guard down in a place like Mos Eisley – the absence of organized attempts to kill him did not at all mean there were no lone hounds out there who might impulsively pull a blaster at the sight of him, and some long-past slight he'd given them – after all, he tended to have, as one of his early adversaries had remarked, one of those infuriating, arrogant faces that people wanted to put their fist in.

These were his old stomping grounds, and he knew them like that back of his hand – which meant he also knew that seedy holes-in-the-wall on Tatooine demanded a smart man keep one hand hovering on his blaster.

His other hand loosely curled around a chipped pint of ale, Han continued to take careful note of everything going on in the cantina until Lando Calrissian made his boisterous appearance.

Out of military uniform and clad in one of his usual flamboyant caped ensembles, the one-time traitor bared his teeth in a wide grin, his hands on his hips dramatically as he shook his head.

"If it ain't the royal concubine himself," Lando drawled, his eyes glinting mischievously.

He swept his cape behind him and feigned a ridiculous bow, glancing up impishly and laughing loudly at the look on Han's face.

"Honored to be in your presence, _Mister_ Princess," he said, feigning reverence.

Han sat forward, arching his brow and pointing warningly to his blaster, and Lando laughed carelessly, dropping down in the corner booth with his fellow criminal-turned-general. Han sat back with a scowl, turning a stony glare on Lando.

"Mister Princess?" he groused, frowning. "Where'd you come up with that?"

" _I_ didn't," Lando said smugly. "HoloNet Nineteen did."

Han rubbed his jaw dubiously, trying to decide if that was on the same irritating level as concubine or infinitely _worse_.

Lando held out his hand for a handshake, and Han obliged warily, subjected immediately to more of Lando's light mockery –

"Those rumors are true then, eh? The vids really do add ten pounds," Lando released Han's hand and slapped him firmly on the back. "Getting soft, living in the _lap_ of luxury?"

The way he said it was too suggestive for Han's tastes, and while a little voice in his head expressed outraged that he had become someone who put a stop to ribald talk about women, out loud he said –

"Cut it out, Lando."

Shaking his head good-naturedly, Lando sat back, resting the back of his head against the booth.

"What the hell's going on in the core, Han?" Lando asked rhetorically, amused and disbelieving. "First the whole galaxy loses their head over you 'n' Leia, and now you've got people rising from the dead – it's _that_ forbidden, huh? The Viceroy of Alderaan didn't just _turn_ in his grave he actually emerged from it. Heard about you and thought, that's it, time to arrange a resurrection."

Lando grinned, and Han gave him a wry smile – unbelievably irreverent way of putting it, but surprisingly fitting.

"He wasn't dead to begin with," Han retorted pointedly.

"Still, you gotta admit," Lando snorted. "You didn't count on being presented to old royal _daddy_."

Han lifted his pint and nodded at the empty space in front of Lando.

"You gonna drink?"

"In good time," Lando answered vaguely. "How's she doin', Leia?" he asked with genuine interest. "Luke, too – I can't take all my gossip 'net news at face value. Unless you _are_ being shared between Luke and Leia."

" _What_?" Han barked, aghast.

Lando erupted into laughter again, clutching his ribs.

"It's that soundbite, that damn – what did the kid say, you were _irresistible_ , somethin' like that? So this gal on HoloNet five, a late night comedian, she takes it and starts makin' jokes about," Lando noticed Han glaring at him menacingly and hastily trailed off, coughing to hide his last bit of laughter. "It wasn't that funny," he said, quickly pretending to be solemn.

Han shook his head in disbelief – he avoided the holos for his own sanity but kriff, if they weren't getting increasingly out of control with speculation and invasive interest –

"Luke's good," he answered gruffly, nodding to himself. "Keeps running off on _quests_ to find outabout the Jedi, and apparently spends his free time racking up women."

Lando looked skeptical, and Han returned the look – there, at least there was one other person in the whole damn Rebellion who hadn't known Luke was the universe's most respectful womanizer.

"Y'know, I've met someone Luke will want to hear about," Lando said, his voice taking on a more serious note.

"C'mon, Lando, he's got me and Leia eyeing' his love life right now – "

"No, not for that," Lando corrected swiftly. "Woman, redhead, she was fighting with some insurgents in Imperial no man's land," he said. "She fought against them, but she didn't want anything to do with us, either. The name was Mara Jade – and I think she's one of the Jedi."

Han looked mildly interested.

"Yeah? That'd be impressive, since Luke's the last one," he said, unconvinced. "What she do, beat you in a fight? Gettin' your ass kicked by a girl make you justify it by claiming she's got Force powers?" Han grinned smugly, and Lando feigned a laugh, narrowing his eyes.

"She had a lightsaber," Lando responded, exposing his hand suddenly and showing Han a deep scar across his knuckles that somehow looked old, but unhealed simultaneously. "You ever been swiped with one of those?"

Han shook his head, lowering his head to look closer – no, but he'd seen the wound on what remained of Luke's wrist before, and it resembled this pulsing, blackened mottled skin. He drew back, sobered a little.

"What colour was it?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"The saber," Han clarified.

"That matters?" Lando asked.

Han shrugged.

"Well, I never seen a _nice_ guy with a red one," he said dryly.

Lando thought about it, and tugged his sleeve down, covering the wound with the cape. He shook his head.

"It was purple," he muttered. "Look, I kept meaning to contact Luke about it, but she was one woman and I've got a host of insurgents to keep an eye on," he said heavily. He hesitated. "She had an Imperial loyalty tattoo on her shoulder, but I'm tellin' ya, she didn't seem to be fighting with them."

"I'll pass it on," Han said darkly – he was sure Luke would be unsatisfied with rumor and conjecture, though; he'd fly out to see Lando as soon as he could, and no doubt adopt it as his new obsession. Han didn't dwell on it, though – the only Force sensitive human who concerned him was Leia, and he had too much to worry about without adding a renegade wannabe Jedi woman to the list.

"Leia?" Lando prompted, after a moment of silence. He hesitated. "She always _looks_ like she's got the whole galaxy by the balls," he remarked warily.

Han smirked at the remark, leaning forward. He rested his hand on the table, drumming his fingers loudly.

"She's okay," he said guardedly. "She keeps 'em guessing."

"No one's guessing about you anymore," Lando snorted. "I couldn't believe after all that outcry, you stuck around."

Han grinned devilishly.

"I thrive on annoying everyone around me," he retorted.

"So I've heard."

A new voice joined them, and Lando gestured forward, reaching for the drink the newcomer proffered.

"And here's who we're waiting for – Tendra Risant, Han Solo – Han, this is Tendra Risant."

Lando made clear his involvement with Tendra by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her mouth before settling back down with the glass of shimmering liquor she'd brought him. She – Tendra – sat down on the edge of the booth on the opposite side, leaning forward with a posture that was somehow both refined and relaxed.

She rested her weight lightly on her elbows, her lips pursed as she surveyed Han. Her skin was darker than Lando's, peppered with freckles, and she had a pair of bright, smart eyes that Han guessed were decorated with contacts, as he wasn't aware of any human with naturally pink irises. Her hair was as blonde as Dansra's, though it had loose, curly braids woven throughout it, and the hair lacing into those designs was turquoise.

"Between Lando's talk and the HoloNet, I feel like I know you," she remarked neutrally, extending her hand.

He took it, his brow furrowing.

"Tendra Risant – Sacorrian?" he asked.

They'd had a contact on Sacorria with the Risant family during the war, someone he'd never met but had smuggled for on behalf of the Alliance. She nodded, a smile touching her lips.

"No longer of Saccorria," she said mildly. She tilted her head at Lando. "My people frown on relationships outside of our own culture - their frowns deepen when a woman double-crosses her own father to blockade run for insurgencies," she said smoothly.

She flashed her hand around as if it were nothing.

"As it were, eschewing tradition runs in my blood – and my family should have expected it."

Han jerked his thumb at Lando.

"You gave up your people for this guy?" he joked, arching a brow.

Lando scowled, but Tendra merely raised very pristine, lovely eyebrows.

"I wonder how many people have said the same to the woman in your life," she remarked.

Lando snorted dryly.

"She's got you there, buddy," he muttered.

Han's temper – his wariness, really – flared quickly.

"Hey, that's not what she's doing," he snapped, his jaw hardening. "You don't know a damn thing about it, or her."

The comment touched a nerve, though – some people definitely did think she was, in a way, rejecting her upbringing and status for a man of humble background. Han had never seen it as an either-or situation, even after the explosion of publicity, but now he wondered – what was going on back on Coruscant.

He wondered if he was going to return to Leia telling him it had to end. No – no, he had more faith in her than that; he was almost sure if she was told to choose, she'd chose him, but the kind of misery she'd experience if that was the situation was unbearable to imagine, and he couldn't put her through it. If this all turned into the Viceroy making her pick, Han would have to be the martyr, for her sake.

And that – that was a thought he couldn't even begin to entertain.

"Take it easy, Han," Lando warned, pulling him back, an edge to his tone. He shot his old friend a look, and held his palm out at Tendra with a pointed look. "She's got what you want – sort of," he reminded him.

Han settled back tensely, nodding, and eyed Tendra warily – Lando had told him he thought he found a woman who had connections to the sort of Alderaanian necklace Han had nosed around about, but he hadn't mentioned _she_ was his significant other – and on that note, Han was unsure how someone from the isolationist Saccorria could help.

His and Leia's issue was a class issue – Saccorrians were plain _racist_. Tendra would have been expelled from her clan for choosing to have a relationship outside of the colony – even if that relationship didn't last.

Tendra's lips turned up slightly, and she reached for her neck, pulling side her loose collar and moving her fingers nimbly until she had unclasped a pendant and gathered it delicately in her hand, holding it out. After a moment, Han held his palm out hesitantly. She placed the cool metal in his hand, and gently pushed his hand back towards him.

"From what Lando mentioned – you were talking about an Alderaanian matrimonial pendant," she said slowly. "As I said, eschewing tradition runs in my blood – that one was my mother's," she said. She paused a moment. "She ran off with an Alderaanian pilot when she was sixteen. He promised her he'd marry her, but he was killed in battle during the Clone Wars," Tendra explained simply, "her parents took her back in because she agreed to return and marry my father, who she'd been promised to in the first place, and they needed his status to protect them from the Trade Federations. He was glad to have her money and her beauty," Tendra remarked, "but he never forgave her for shaming him. She passed this to me to ensure I always knew there were places I could run, and people I could love, beyond this one place."

Han listened to the story – half listened – as he lifted the necklace and examined it. It was fragile and carefully crafted, clearly a work of very meticulous, valued art. The gem in this one was the colour of clearest ocean water, and the clasp was exactly what Dansra had described, down to the two places with two sets of initials. Except –

"The clasp is broken," Tendra remarked. "You see, Mother had hers fused on – apparently many Alderaanian women do – and her father ripped it off of her. It broke the clasp but you can see," Tendra leaned forward, and gestured, "how unique it is, what sort of thing your Princess was talking about."

Han's eyes snapped on her warily.

"Leia didn't mention this," he warned, and shot a look between the two of them. "Leia _doesn't_ know about this," he added pointedly.

"Ah," Tendra said, her expression knowing.

Lando laughed, shaking his head good-naturedly.

"That's one hell of a gesture, Solo," he remarked.

Han studied the artistry of the necklace, though, imagining something like it for Leia, wondering what kind of stone or gem she'd like set in it, but he shook his head, gingerly holding it back out to her.

"I can't buy your mother's necklace," he said gruffly. "You can't sell that – besides, even if it is one of the last ones, I can't give – it's some other woman's token."

He couldn't give Leia someone else's necklace, not if it was this important. He'd never dare propose to her with a ring that had belonged to an ex-girlfriend or something like that, and he saw the same flaw in asking her to accept a second-hand pendent, even if otherwise her chance at that tradition was gone.

Tendra's response was quick, as she took the jewelry.

"It is not for sale," she said, a bit tensely. "And you're absolutely correct – if a man proposed to me with used goods, I'd shove it down his throat."

Han did not miss the pointed look she threw at Lando as if to say – _take note._

Han folded his arms, eyeing her apprehensively.

"Then why's Lando got me here under the impression you can help?" he demanded.

"I'd be willing to lend it to you," she allowed, "if you want to take it to a jeweler and see if they can mimic the clasp – I think this sort of white gold was mined on Alderaanian mountains, so you won't be able to replicate that," she warned, "but you have a template now, if you want a near approximation," she paused, "there'd be a rental fee, naturally."

Han smirked a little – smugglers, gamblers, people like Tendra and Lando, the crew he used to run with – they never changed, even when they went legitimate. Favors were exchanged for favors, loyalty was purchased at a price, and he was glad, for a quick moment, that he no longer lived in a world where every second he was guessing if he could trust the person next to them, or if someone had paid them more.

He looked at the pendent in her hands, and frowned thoughtfully – that was a decent idea, and he'd had no luck with any of his other contacts, either; it did seem that Alderaan's artists and jewelers rarely emigrated off the planet – Alderaanians returned home for things like this. Their arts were sacred and protected; the fruits of labor were shared, but the processes were kept within the culture.

He was wary of giving her an imitation, though. The notion sent ripples of discomfort up his spine – he'd feel like he was implying important parts of her culture could be faked, or easily re-created; remembering what Dansra had said on Laurensia Prime, about how upsetting it was to see her culture counterfeited, he thought Leia might feel the same way, and he couldn't see himself giving her something that was a mere mimicry of the real thing.

He couldn't replace Alderaan and he couldn't replace what had been lost there. He'd already recognized that when he was with her on Corellia, when he asked her to marry him. Their lives now had to be about the future.

That is, if their future continued to be entwined.

He held up his hand and shook it.

"It wouldn't be authentic," he said gruffly, shaking is head slowly.

He rubbed his jaw and rested his elbow on the table.

"Nothin' else panned out?" he asked, an aside to Lando, eyes on the necklace.

"Sorry, Han," Lando said. "You'll have to find her other artifacts – couldn't hurt, though, takin' Tendra's to a craftsman?" he prodded.

Han shook his head again – no, didn't feel right.

"Or," Lando leaned forward to smack Han on the back lightly, giving him a wry look. "Maybe you're off the hook now, eh? Avoid the noose before it's around your neck."

Han jolted Lando's arm off his shoulder, shooting him an irritable look.

"Ah, you don't want to be off the hook?" Lando asked, looking genuinely surprised.

Tendra leaned back, casually lifting the highball glass of whiskey she was nurturing.

"Would you want to be off the hook with a woman like that?" she remarked mildly, giving Lando a calmly pointed look – she, at least, seemed to sense he needed to shut up with his cavalier joking and loose lips.

"Hey, Tendy," he said, holding up his hands, "the Princess has a lot attached to her," he did look at Han with some confusion, "I still scratch my head wondering why you're still putting up with all they throw at you."

"Well, why the hell do you think, Lando?" barked Han. "I'm not playin' games here – I didn't track a damn rumor of a necklace across the galaxy because I'm enjoying fifteen parsecs of fame."

Lando held his hands up incredulously, surprised by the aggression.

"Calm _down_ ," he protested, raising his voice. "I don't care if you date a princess, I just never really realized you were that serious about her."

Han rubbed his temples, clenching his jaw – Lando's tactlessness just happened to perfectly situate itself alongside the resistant reactions of so many other people. He hadn't removed himself from the eye of the proverbial hurricane to hear the same thing from his own rough-and-tumble ilk, even if Lando was coming from the old carefree don't-get-tied-down direction.

"Just get 'er a ring, if you want her that badly," Lando said, leaning back. He shook his head. "She'll say yes, or she'll say no – it won't have anything to do with the ring or the jewelry – not _her_ type, anyway."

"Type?" Han ground out.

Lando looked at him seriously.

"I spent a year with that girl hunting your carbon-fried ass down, she's not the high society brat you think a princess would be," he said frankly.

Han ran a hand over his mouth.

"Don't tell _me_ about Leia."

"What I'm tellin' ya is, you don't have to break your back trying to get her something to prove your – _worth_. No _royal_ guy's gonna be able to get her this, either."

Lando scowled, contemptuous – he was annoyed he hadn't been able to dramatically save the day, because despite his earlier mistakes as it pertained to Han and Leia's life, he had a taste for being the hero, and they were close friends of his. The press attention on them was a nightmare, and he couldn't imagine what a cataclysm it would be if all of this tore them apart.

"That," Tendra spoke up quietly, her eyes on Lando, and then on Han, "is not what it's about."

"Come again?" Lando asked tightly.

Tendra sighed. She lifted her hand and tucked some curls behind her ear, shaking her head at Lando. She knew, simply from watching Han, that finding Leia a necklace like this wouldn't have had anything to do with him smugly proving his mettle; he was only a man searching for a way to ease a suffering that had to be _in_ sufferable.

She leaned forward, glass in hand.

"You're right not to give her a replica," she said, "and you're right not to give her someone else's – now I've only communicated with Princess Leia via electronics during the Rebellion, but Lando is right, as well. Trinkets like this," she held up the hand with the necklace in it, "they're outward symbols, but they're only symbols," she said, "what's significant on Alderaan is meaningless on Saccorria is meaningless on Corellia and so on. What matters cross-culturally and universally is if the feeling the symbol represents is strong."

Lando looked at Tendra in admiring surprise as she sat back, lifting her glass to her lips. She held it out in a toast to Han, inclining her head.

"To your girl," she murmured.

"I'll drink to that," Lando said immediately, lifting his glass.

Han rubbed his jaw again, considering the woman – sure, everything she said made sense, but her culture hadn't been eradicated, she'd simply chosen to leave it. The absence of this tradition was a very visceral reminder that Alderaan and everything it had been would slip into oblivion – and on top of that, Han wanted her to know that he wasn't asking her to reject any of that culture. He didn't want her to forget it, or think she couldn't be their Princess and his Leia – especially now, with her father under the impression he was an irreverent blight in her life.

Han lifted his pint and nodded, too superstitious to refuse to drink to Leia.

Lando gave him a look and joked hesitantly –

"You went and got her father back, didn't you?" he pointed out. "Surely that's better than a _necklace_."

Han snorted grimly and shrugged – Leia wasn't getting along very smoothly with her father, and it definitely hadn't gone swimmingly for Han himself. The thing is – he'd really wanted to be able to find someone to make this thing for her, and being unable to was giving him one of those sharp, rare glimpses into how she really must feel every day, knowing that so much was lost forever. In a way, on a very superficial level, it helped him understand more: there was so much he took for granted that Alderaanians had just… _lost_ , for good.

"You tell him about that redhead?" Tendra asked, examining her nails.

"Jade? Yeah, he said he'd pass it to Skywalker," Lando answered, and Han looked between them.

"She was a piece of work," Tendra said, though she sounded fond. "We only held her for a day or so before she escaped, but she bit Lando."

Han laughed, turning to his friend with a smug look in his eye. Lando scowled, glaring at Tendra.

"Where'd she bite?" Han goaded.

"On the neck," Tendra laughed. "Like a shadow in one of those bloodsucker myths."

The mental image cheered Han up a bit, and he leaned back casually, glancing around the cantina – in one of these corners, he'd first come across an old Wizard calling himself Ben Kenobi, and an exhaustingly adventurous farm boy. If he'd have known then what he knew now –

"I got a question for you, Han – what the hell are you doing out here, anyway?" Lando asked blithely. "You didn't have to fly out for the necklace, I told you to just call me back."

Han evaded the question a moment, unwilling to get into it – and certainly not about to start divulging his personal relationship struggles to Lando.

"The Alderaanians," he began gruffly. He shook his head. "They didn't realize they'd been gone for so long, and some of 'em didn't realize the planet was gone," he explained slowly. "Leia owes them a lot. This thing with me 'n' her, it's in the way. And she's got some stuff to deal with," he cleared his throat, "with her old man."

"Namely, you," muttered Lando good-naturedly.

Han rubbed his jaw.

"No, I'm not the biggest issue," he grumbled, grudgingly admitting that it was true. He thought Bail was being myopic about the whole thing, but he had come to realize he was an obvious and easy scapegoat – he only hoped that whatever was going on back home, right now, it was easing Leia's pain, and not increasing it.

If he had to return to an even bigger divide between Leia and her father, and if it was Bail's fault, he was going to have to punch him.

He was really, really trying to avoid _punching_ him.

Lando waved his hand.

"I bet Leia can handle her own father," he said breezily. "I've seen a lot of people chained to Jabba's throne, and she's the only one who sat there in shackles and managed to look like _she_ was the one in charge," he laughed. He was praising her, but Han was looking at him warningly anyway. "She strangled a Hutt wearin' nothing, and a fully grown, fully armored man would have had trouble with that – wouldn't have looked near as good doing it."

Tendra smiled indulgently at Lando, unsurprised when Han reached over and grabbed his ear hard, yanking his head over.

"If you ever think about Leia in that bikini again," he warned harshly, "I'll rip your eyes out."

Lando looked startled, swearing, and yanking his head away, reaching up to grab his hear. He'd just – essentially been chastised like an errant child –

"What the hell are you doing, Solo, practicing for your kids?" he griped, scowling. " _Kriff_ , you used to be more fun," he added dourly.

Han glowered at him.

"I'm plenty of fun," he retorted threateningly.

"What's this guy's problem with you?" muttered Lando, half to himself, sulking into his drink. "You'd think he'd be delighted his daughter's lover is as much of a protective nuisance as you are."

Tendra laughed.

"Fathers don't like being supplanted in their daughter's lives," she said succinctly. "Fathers are the _good_ male. And they have the particularly worrisome talent of knowing exactly how other men think."

Which, Han supposed, was the root of it all.

"Would _you_ let you around _your_ daughter?" Lando asked Han curiously.

Han splayed his palm over his pint, frowning thoughtfully – how the hell was he supposed to know? He didn't have kids, didn't have anything close – couldn't even pretend to know how it felt to be a father. Maybe if he had that experience to draw on, he could be more empathetic to Bail, but he personally knew he'd never treat Leia poorly, or hurt her. Even in his most criminal days, he'd never been the kind of man who was cruel or abusive to women, and definitely not the women he loved.

So, he nodded stubbornly.

"Oh, bull _shit_ , you would," Lando snorted skeptically.

"I'm a _nice_ guy," Han fired back, pointing lazily to his chest. He curled his hand into a fist and jabbed a finger at Lando. "I _don't_ think that bikini was sexy," he snapped. " _That's_ why I'd let a guy like me around my daughter."

Lando looked at him thoughtfully a moment and then burst into jovial laughter, shaking his head.

"I've got Han Solo in a Mos Eisley Cantina talking about kids and matrimony," he drawled. "I never thought I'd see the damn day."

" _You're_ the one talking about kids!" Han protested, annoyed.

Tendra flashed a toothy grin.

"What else would you like to talk about, Solo?" she asked. "You're on leave, out of the spotlight for a bit," she leaned forward. "How long's it been since you threw your credits where your mouth is at a game of Sabacc?"

Han grinned a little, lifting his pint glass. His expression said he was receptive to starting a game – next to rigging the _Falcon_ , a good, tense gamble usually cleared his head for a while; it took all of his brainpower.

Lando downed the rest of his drink and leaned forward, holding up his hand.

"I've got the next round," he said to Tendra, "but – hang on, hang on, I've got something for you," he ruffled around in the deep inner pockets of his cape for something, bringing it out and flinging it at Han with a sly look, lifting his brows. Han caught it, feeling pliable metal in his fingers –

"Thought you could use it for your new position," Lando snickered. "You know, got to look the part."

Han furrowed his brow, holding out the circular object and running his thumb over crudely constructed points, consternated for a moment, until he realized –

"Go ahead, put it on," Lando goaded. "You can wear it at the wedding."

He lunged over and snatched the makeshift crown, dropping it overdramatically on Han's mess of hair, lowering his hand to squeeze his shoulder gleefully and let out another laugh. He affected another ostentatious, exaggerated little bow.

" _Lord_ Organa," he drawled seriously.

Han elbowed Lando off of him, wondering where the hell _that_ one had come from. Lando eased back again, looking at Han with feigned intensity, nodding to himself.

"I'll send you back with that – King of the Smugglers; fit for a Princess," he joked. He held up his hands. "Don't bite my head off, buddy," he grinned slyly, "you look _dashing_."

Tendra grinned, appraising him with a raised eyebrow.

"It suits you," she snorted smoothly.

Han reached up to touch the point of the crudely made circlet, scowling at Lando moodily. Lando smirked back with glee, gesturing around dramatically.

"We could at least crown you King of Tatooine," he mocked, "I think you could run this bunch."

"Yeah," Han snorted, leaning back and spreading his arms out contemptuously, "'cause that'd be such an impressive title."

Tendra waved her hand.

"Titles are merely as important as the social constructs behind them."

She rose from her seat with confidence, indicating she'd be back with a deck of cards in a moment, and Han arched a brow, turning to look at Lando.

"You ought to keep that one around," he advised.

"Believe me, pal," Lando said swiftly, "I'm gonna try."

Han grinned, and returned his elbow to the table, lowering his head to take a long draught of his drink, finishing off the ale – he looked around at the patrons once again, remembering these old haunts, and the old days of his life – distracted first by his internal ruminations, and then by Tendra's return with the cards, he forgot he was wearing that stupid crown.

* * *

With his fur slightly damp and fanning out in the way fur usually did when it was freshly washed and drying, Chewbacca ambled in to the _Falcon's_ main hold, peering around for Han. He'd heard the Corellian return, but had yet to see him – and he wasn't in his bunk, so the best bet was –

Chewbacca heard movement, and a female voice, from the cockpit, and slowly moved that way, cautiously discerning whether or not Han was actively on the line with Leia, or if he was just listening to the message that had come in while they were out.

He poked his head in, and Han glanced at him, waving his hand.

"It's just a message."

 _[Is it a message I can hear?]_

"Huh?" Han asked, and then caught on, and narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, nothin' private."

Chewbacca sat down in his large, modified seat, looking with interest at the image of the princess. She was curled in her office chair, one hand supporting her head, as she talked into the imagery – and Han had the volume low; he must have already listened to it once.

"… _unbelievable, really, but it's true: he's older than me_ ," the shimmery blue Leia was saying, a hint of drama in her light tone. _"…so now I suppose you've got a father, and an older brother to contend with…"_

Chewbacca chuckled, but he turned his head curiously.

 _[Luke is older?]_

"That's what she said," Han muttered. "That's what Bail told her."

 _[Ah, so they've made some discoveries – that's good,]_ Chewbacca mused, _[that's why you left.]_

Han nodded – and he was a little relieved to know she had been able to get through that, because it confirmed his suspicion that his presence was adding too much to the complex issues hanging between her and her father. It made him feel like he'd made the right decision – less like he was hiding, and more like he'd made an appropriate gesture.

Han lowered the volume a little more, and leaned forward, looking at the image intently, his jaw clenched.

"She seems okay," he said slowly, aloud.

He had expected her to wait until he had returned to relate the story, but her message had started with a sort of disclaimer - _I have to repeat this to clear my head, in a way, and hearing it in my own voice might be since...her name was Padme_ \- and he even suspected she'd specifically tried to make sure she called when she'd have to leave a message.

Chewbacca tilted his head.

 _[Did you call back?]_

"It's after midnight on Coruscant," Han muttered. "I'm not waking her up."

 _[Has she…learned who her mother was?]_

Han nodded, frowning.

"Old Republic senator," he said gruffly. "Padmé Amidala Naberrie," he muttered. "She was from – "

 _[Naboo.]_ Chewie supplied bluntly _. [She was Queen of Naboo.]_

Han spun in his chair to face the Wookiee, incredulous.

"Don't tell me you _knew_ her," he said, unable to imagine what a ridiculously small galaxy it would be if –

Chewbacca shook his head.

 _[No, just her name. My father spoke of her with reverence. She was blacklisted after her death,]_ Chewbacca said wearily. _[Stricken from history. You won't find her if you search the name.]_

Han sighed, leaning back. His shoulders sagged, and he stared at Leia, watching her adjust the image.

" _...Luke drank a whole glass of whiskey and fell asleep in the spare bedroom for twelve hours, and then I taught Father how to make pancakes…he's very fascinated with the idea of cooking…"_

Chewbacca let out a terrible moan.

 _[Leia shouldn't be teaching_ anyone _to make pancakes.]_ He lamented.

"Hey, she tries," Han defended, snickering a little.

 _[She needs practice!]_

"Sure, Chewie, I'll tell her that sometime between running the galaxy and fending off the opinions of everyone around her, she should get better at making pancakes." Han rolled his eyes – it was an intriguing note that she was on good enough terms to be cooking with her old man.

 _[You should teach the Viceroy to make pancakes.]_ Chewbacca rumbled seriously. He waved his paw.

Han snorted, rubbing his jaw, and Chewbacca leaned forward, curiously absorbed in the message.

"… _there's less tension, maybe…I don't know, Han, I think he wants to hear me rave about how much I love you but that's too personal,"_ she bit her lip. _"I do love you,"_ she whispered, _"please don't forget that."_

Chewbacca leaned back, his mouth turning up in a smile.

 _[Malla will likely leave Kashyyyk to see your Bonding ceremony,]_ he said seriously – his wife disliked leaving the planet, and had done so once in her long life, but she so fiercely cared for Han that she'd want to see him have this sort of thing in his life. _[Did Lando have the token you wanted?]_

Han rubbed his face, shaking his head stiffly.

"No," he said heavily. "Ah, well, his woman had one, but it was her mother's, and I can't have someone make her an imitation one, or a fake one," he muttered. He shrugged tiredly. "I thought I could get 'er that," he said dejectedly.

Chewbacca made a sympathetic noise, and then put his hands behind his head.

 _[You'll make do with a flower crown, the ones we use in our ceremonies,]_ he said firmly _. [She told me she likes them. The flowers she liked, they're gone, too, but you can add Arallutes when you get back to Coruscant.]_

Han grit his teeth, looking at his palms.

"Yeah, Chewie, she'd like that," he said tiredly. "What flowers did she want?" he muttered.

 _[Molushkas?]_ Chewbacca struggled with the word; it didn't translate to his language, so he strung together the letters for it so Han could sound it out in Basic. He shook his head forlornly _. [I researched them. They were very endangered, even on Alderaan. Delicate, and difficult to cultivate. Yellow, and flecked with purple.]_

Han's brow furrowed.

"She can't ever have any of this stuff back, Chewie," he said hoarsely. "I can't _get_ it back for her."

Chewbacca fell silent, mournful and respectful. It was a hard thing to swallow, realizing over and over again that these little things were simply no longer available, no longer there; it was almost harder to come to terms with now, when the Viceroy of Alderaan had just been pulled out of the planetary wreckage, and that made it seem like everything else should be cropping up, too.

If Han kept getting reminded that this stuff was all gone, how bad was it for her – and for her father, and for her Aunt Rouge, for Winter – for all of those who hadn't been able to fight back and get revenge and spend more than a year adjusting to this reality? Hell – Corellia had never been as purely home to him as Alderaan had been to Leia, but even so, he couldn't imagine how he'd feel if Coronet City was reduced to atomic particles in the stars.

 _[Leia already knows that, Cub,]_ Chewbacca said bluntly. _[She doesn't expect it. She wouldn't demand that of you.]_

"I know," Han muttered gruffly – but that was the damn point. He'd wanted to be able to give it to her anyway.

 _[It's enough to just do what you've always done.]_

Han grunted, unsure what Chewie meant.

 _[You'd just pick up stuff you heard was Alderaanian, when we were contracted to the Rebellion. Even when you two weren't on good terms. Keep doing that.]_

Han envisioned resigning his military commission and becoming some sort of renegade archaeologist who traipsed across the galaxy hunting down Alderaanian artifacts. He smirked a little – Leia might be more amenable to reminders, now; there had been a time when she couldn't bear to mention the planet, and when he was sure reminders did more harm than good, even when he knew it was important to take them to her anyway.

 _[Besides,]_ said Chewie seriously, heaving himself up _. [It's that you thought about it that counts, isn't it? You wanted to give her that tradition. You made the effort to know what it was.]_ He nodded his head emphatically, and glanced at the message as it was still playing – fading now, as a tired Leia was yawning, signing off.

"… _and don't do anything stupid, Han – I feel the need to remind you that if you have to send me a message asking me to define 'stupid' whatever you're about to do is not acceptable…"_

Chewbacca roared with laughter, his lips pulling back in a grin.

 _[She's the best thing that's ever happened to you!]_ He howled good-naturedly _. [I'm going to bed – I told Malla to expect us in a few days…]_

He trailed off – it was up to Han when they made their way to Kashyyyk, and he'd gauge when it was best to return to Coruscant, as well. He'd recognize the moment in Leia's voice, when he next spoke to her directly. For now he was glad things seemed – to be going decently with her Father, and he was still mulling over Chewie's last few words of wisdom as he leaned forward and turned off the visual comlink, leaving the cockpit in silence.

He stared for a long time at the place, thinking over what Chewie had said – and some things that Tendra had said, and he frowned to himself, leaning back and running his hand through his hair.

It could be enough that he knew the tradition behind Alderaanian proposals – if he couldn't get her their ceremonial pendent, he could get her _a_ pendent, something other than a ring, something that ensured she understood that he did respect the life she had lost. It might be good for them both for it to be something that moved them forward, anyway, instead of reaching back and trying to cling to a reality that just didn't exist anymore.

He rubbed his jaw – there were fine jewelers on Corellia, there were craftsmen on Dubrillion and even Ryloth who could produce unique items – imitation wasn't sincere, but Chewbacca was right: the _thought_ was.

He _wasn't_ Alderaanian, and some of the issue seemed to lie in that, but pretending he was would hardly fix a damn thing, and it would be a discredit to all they'd been through together, and everything they'd learned to love in each other despite their vastly different backgrounds and origins.

He cleared his throat, brow furrowing as he sat forward – and it wasn't just that, either; this little jaunt around the galaxy, his contribution to giving her time with her father, didn't have to be tedious wandering, or days of basking in the sun on Kashyyyk and putting up with Malla demanding he grow his facial hair out because he 'looked like a human baby' without it; he could help fill in the blanks for her to the best of his ability.

And – he thought, sharply lunging forward and flicking the communications unit back on, his eyes narrowed as he tried to recall where in the message she had mentioned it – ah –

"… _the most startling thing was – he was a slave when he was a boy, and from a psychological standpoint I can't see how he became - what he became, when he knew the humiliation of slavery himself…his mother died on Tatooine – Father doesn't know what happened to her…"_

\- he could start right here, on this blistering sand planet where it had all begun for him – for all of them, it seemed.

* * *

Han stayed on Tatooine a few more days than he meant to, due to the impromptu initiative he'd taken in floating the Skywalker name around and seeing if anything came up. Of course, most of what was pinged back to him was a remark about the homegrown hero Luke Skywalker, but on the day he'd promised Chewbacca they'd head for Kashyyyk, he found himself in the bar of a small in outside of Mos Espa, taking up a subtle table in the corner.

He'd received a call from Gavin Darklighter's mother last night, and she'd directed him to Beru Lars's sister, who had arranged for him to meet with someone here – Sorna. Han was unsure who exactly she was, but Mrs. Darklighter, who had taken over the Lars homestead with her husband at Luke's behest, assured Beru's sister was a trustworthy woman.

Han scanned the room, and his eyes were on the door when someone pulled out a chair at the table with him, clearing her throat very quietly.

"Hello – um, Mister – General Solo," she greeted, as Han turned to face her. She swallowed, smiling, flustered. "I'm sorry – of course I recognize you. General Solo," she said, more confidently. "I'm – "

"Sorna," he guessed, stretching out his hand and fully facing her.

She nodded, flushing, and accepting his handshake. Han noticed she had a worn leather bag with her, clutched in her lap. She had the same look most Tatooine born-and-bred humans did: roughened, sun-weathered skin, hair that looked sandy even if it was dark hair, tried eyes, determined, hard mouth. She smiled, but it was a smile that implied she had very little to smile about.

"Dama told me you were looking for information on the Skywalkers," Sorna began, without preamble. She cleared her throat.

Dama was Beru's sister, the owner of this inn.

Han nodded, leaning forward so they could keep their voices low.

"Yeah, Luke Skywalker's family."

"And Princess Leia Organa's, these days," Sorna noted.

Han nodded again, cautiously.

"Well I – I never knew Luke very well, and I lost contact with the Larses after Clieg and Shmi died," she explained softly. "Dama was the one who helped Luke when he came back to settle Owen and Beru's estate, but he left most of the inventory to her and the Darklighters, which how I ended up with – oh, I'm not starting at the beginning, am I?" she asked, sighing.

Han furrowed his brow.

"Who are you, exactly?" he asked warily.

Sorna took a breath, and placed her bag on the table.

"The Larses told people that they adopted Luke because Beru couldn't have children, and perhaps that was true. They said they gave him the name Skywalker to honor Owen's stepmother, Shmi Skywalker. I always – it seemed so strange, though. Luke was from a family off-world, and I knew Shmi's son had gone to train as a Jedi," she explained. "It was all strange. I kept waiting for Anakin to return for him, but," she trailed off.

Apprehensively, Han narrowed his eyes.

"What happened to Anakin Skywalker?" he asked, guardedly, testing the waters – what the hell _did_ these people think happened to him?

"He died in the Clone Wars," Sorna said sadly. "He must have. I never saw him after he left with those two Jedi – Shmi was so relieved they freed him, but I think it always broke her heart that she had to give him up," Sorna paused, and licked her lips. "Shmi and I were slaves of Gardulla the Hutt's," she revealed. "Gardulla lost Shmi and Ani to a junk trader – but we were still close, and I kept in touch with her as best as I could, once she married Clieg."

"Clieg?"

"Clieg Lars – that's Owen's father," Sorna supplied.

Han rubbed his jaw – so here he sat with a woman who had known Darth Vader as a child, who had no only known Darth Vader, but his mother. It was very strange to think of Darth Vader having a mother, and a mother who had loved him, at that. He set his jaw carefully, unwilling to betray any emotion.

"Anyway, I always thought Luke must be Anakin's boy, and for some reason they couldn't talk about it – if he became a Jedi, I suppose it's because they were supposed to be unattached," Sorna said. "Shmi was long gone when Luke came, of course, but I always thought she would have so loved to know about him. I tried to contact Owen and Beru but…Owen was wary about it."

Han hesitated.

"What happened to her? Shmi Skywalker?"

"Oh, she was killed by Tusken Raiders," Sorna said sadly. "Clieg died soon after – never got over her death," she sighed.

Han sat back a moment, his lips turning down. He leaned forward again and pointed, nodding subtly at the bag.

"What've you got?"

Sorna clutched it for a moment, and then opened it, pulling out three items.

"Dama took a trunk of Beru's things from the remains of the house," Sorna said softly. "Luke said everything was hers, he didn't need worldly possessions – Dama told me that it seemed he felt he didn't deserve things, as if all he did was get them killed," she lamented. She reached up to tuck back some here. "Dama sorted through the trunk and found a box at the bottom marked 'Shmi Skywalker,' and since Shmi had never meant anything to her, she called me up and asked if I wanted them."

Sorna swallowed, presenting the items – and Han felt his mouth go dry unsure of what he was about to see – to think, Luke had been so close to all of this, to these bits and pieces, and his guilt over what had happened to his Aunt and Uncle had interfered with him sitting down and uncovering truths.

The kid was really going to kick himself when he got a load of this.

"This is a diary of some sort," Sorna said, gesturing to a desperately worn out datapad that looked like it had been through the ringer. "A moisture farmer's wife led a boring life but," Sorna laughed quietly, "she did write about Anakin a lot, and her romance with Clieg." She pointed next to an intricately braided rope, thick, but fraying, with a carved wooden trinket attached. "I believe Anakin would have made her that – he often made trinkets like those," Sorna smiled fondly, "sweet child," she murmured.

She didn't notice Han looking at her skeptically _– sweet child_ , he thought derisively.

"Here," Sorna said finally, tapping a cube – it glitched and glitched for a moment, and then and image popped up, a very young child leaping up and down in a racing pod, an ear-splitting grin on his face – shimmering, surreal.

Han blinked, taken aback.

"That's Luke," he remarked, confused – he could tell from the shadow differences in the image that the boy's eyes were blue, and his hair was the same sort of bleached sandy colour as Luke's – he'd even seen Luke give that same grin – _vividly_ , that grin had shined at him from the cockpit of an X-wing after the Battle of Yavin.

Sorna shook her head.

"No, of course not," she said. "This is Anakin, after he won the Boonta Eve," she said. She smiled a moment. "He won his freedom that day."

Han stared at the image, his teeth clenched – that kid looked like _Luke,_ from head to toe, and Han couldn't believe he was looking right at the face of the boy who would become Darth Vader. He watched him leap up and down again and again, and couldn't connect the child in the holograph to the towering black figure that had stoically watched his torture on Bespin, to the man who had damaged Leia so badly she woke up screaming in the dead of night.

Han held up his hand and waved it tensely.

"Turn that off," he said tersely.

He felt a rush of venom suddenly, but it disappeared quickly – time and time again, Leia raged at Luke for daring try to separate the two, yet here Han sat, unable to fathom the delighted little kid in that holograph ever turning into an archangel of the Sith.

Sorna did, and gestured to the datapad.

"It's really broken up. Most entries are garbled, and some have so many cuts in them you don't know what she's talking about…but if Princess Leia Organa really is Luke Skywalker's twin sister, and my suspicions were correct – ah, that Luke _was_ Anakin's child," she paused, and shrugged, "then these things belong to them. Shmi would have loved them to the ends of the world and back. She was the kindest woman, General Solo. The _kindest_."

Han reached out and touched the carved totem, running his hands over the old wood, and the scratched paint. He pulled it closer and examined it – childish, immature craftsmanship, but creative; interesting. He didn't know if any of this was good for Leia – but Luke would drink it in like oxygen, and Han figured that if he was going to spend his life with Leia, he better consider Luke's well-being regarding all this, too.

He cleared his throat.

"How much do you want for this stuff?" he asked, pushing his hair back. "Credits aren't an issue," he added, and then, under his breath: "for once in my life."

Sorna looked appalled.

"Credits? Oh – General – "

"Hey, it's just Han."

"Han – I couldn't take money for these things, they're heirlooms. Even if Owen and Beru were truthful, claiming Luke was just a refugee orphan named because they loved Shmi, she was _their_ family, so she's _his_ family," she said earnestly. "But I have to tell you, if Luke is wondering where he came from, I know it in my heart he _had_ to be Anakin's."

Han kept his mouth shut – it seemed that those who knew Anakin Skywalker on Tatooine had forgotten about him, or thought like Sorna did: that he had died tragically while off planet. Han was not about to correct that assumption, nor divulge that Luke and Leia knew exactly what had become of their ill-fated father.

"It's all very strange," Sorna murmured gloomily. "Whatever happened to Anakin must have been terrible if they had to hide his children."

Again, Han was silent – Sorna sat across from him, likely thinking Anakin had died heroically, and his children had to be protected from his enemies; she'd probably never know that Luke and Leia had been hidden to shave them from him, to protect them from the corruption of his soul.

Han cleared his throat, clutching the amulet in his hand.

"You sure I can't give you anything?" He looked at her warily suddenly. "You're not still enslaved, are you?" he asked. "That's somethin' I can fix easy."

"I'm not a slave any longer," she said gently, though she smiled at him. "The loveliest thing about your New Republic is that it's had a Tatooine native at the heart of it, and he never forgot us," she said, thinking of Luke. "Your government has made sure their laws do reach us."

She glanced up, towards the ceiling, through it to the sky.

"We're also a favorite liberty port for that General Calrissian they have in charge of the Outer Rim – he's generous," she remarked. "He's very good with investing in businesses, and giving to charity." Sorna smirked a bit. "I think he likes playing the benevolent god."

Han laughed.

"That sounds exactly like Calrissian," he said, without mentioning how well he knew Lando.

Sorna returned his smile, and pushed the bag towards him, nodding.

"Take these things, please," she urged again. "I'll tell Dama where they've gone, and the Darklighters – they may even find more things. That property is vast, and things were always moved around, and hidden," Sorna paused.

Han nodded, gathering the things and placing them in the bag. He wound it up tightly, tucking it under his arm – thinking how strange it was, that in the bottom of this thing was a picture of the great Darth Vader, over the moon because he'd just won a race.

"I hope it's helpful," Sorna said, as he stood to leave – and he bid her farewell, stopping by the bar to at least advise the barkeep that anything Sorna ordered that day should be billed to his New Republic account.

He emerged into the sun with the baggage – literal and figurative – and met Chewbacca in a shaded alcove. Chewbacca tilted his head at him, gesturing towards the hangar where they'd left speeder bikes. Han secured the bag to the bike, grunting vaguely when Chewie asked if he was ready to go.

 _[You find anything for Leia?]_

Han shrugged – he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure if Leia would be interested in that, or if it would hurt her. She had given him slow, faltering details concerning her mother, and he could sense in her message that she was finding it a sore topic, even if her mother was a good woman. Perhaps that was making it worse – it would be easy to understand her mother's romance with Vader if Padmé Amidala had been a villain, but she had been no such thing.

He knew, however, that part of her immense struggle was reconciling her experiences with Luke's gentle attempts to differentiate, and someday, this might help. He'd made a detour to Tatooine to see if Lando had the piece of Alderaan he wanted, and he was leaving with a piece of Skywalker history – no matrimonial pendant from Alderaan, but one amulet carved by a boy slave on Tatooine.

Han swung his leg over the bike, glancing at Chewie seriously.

"It's not a good idea to give her a necklace Anakin Skywalker made, right?" he asked.

His face was deadpan, and Chewbacca gave a bark of disbelief at the joke, shaking his head in a hurry.

Han smirked a little, trying to lighten his own mood, and then waved his hand, grabbing a helmet off the back of his bike.

"Alright, alright," he said, giving Chewbacca a look, "Kashyyyk."

Chewie roared in relief – each time he knew there would be a return home, he got more and more impatient until the time came to land among the lush jungles. The engines on the bikes flared to life, and Han flicked down the protective visor across his face, pressing his leg against the secured bag on the side of his speeder – Kashyyyk, a leap to Corellia, he decided and then – with any luck, he'd been gone long enough for Bail Organa to have decided he was a reality instead of an nightmare.

* * *

 _okay okay, so, important: MUCH of the last section is adapted from **"Tatooine Ghosts"** by Troy Denning, which was one of my favorite EU novels. If you haven't read it - **quick synopsis:** after Han and Leia's honeymoon, they go after a rare Alderaanian painting that has rebel codes in it (Threkin Horm is kind of a villain in this) and Leia ends up getting possession of Shmi Skywalker's diary from the Darklighters, who now own the Lars Homestead. So she reads it, and gets a picture of child!Anakin from his mother. She also meets Kitster Banai, who tells her that Anakin turning into Vader was "just a rumor" (at least, so some people believed) and remembers him as his best friend. Han sees her looking at Kitster's holo-cube of Anakin and thinks its because she wants kids. So not only is Leia learning about Shmi, Han is trying to convince her having kids is a fun/good idea._ _And at the end she's like, okay, Han, let's do it._

 _now, what I've changed: in the book Leia doesn't tell Han she has the diary of Shmi until later, but he does read it with her. so here I have Han seeking out the information while he's got nothing else to do. In the books the Darklighters give the journal directly to Leia, and Kitster has the holocube, but here Han comes by all of it through Beru's sister (who is in the book) and Sorna, who is an EU fried of Shmi's (not in the aforementioned book)._

 _this is a wildly long end note and I do apologize, but I don't want it to seem even for a second like I passed someone else's work off as original to me, so I needed to make it clear that some of the "EU canon" in that book was adapted to this story - just like the original source Star Wars material is used in this story. I really loved **Tatooine Ghosts** and Leia's progress in it so I wanted homage done to that. _

_-Alexandra_


	22. Twenty One

_a/n: you were all nice about last chapter, but I know you were waiting for this one._

* * *

 _ **Twenty-One**_

* * *

There was a cautious and positive truce between Leia and her father following their much needed conversation regarding the life he'd given her – and she felt better; she regained some of her trust in him, and she did feel confident that he was honest with her when he assured her that he had always cared about her as much as any natural father could care about a natural-born daughter. Those steps forward buoyed her, but because of the precarious progress that had been made, she was acutely aware that the topic of Han was being vigorously avoided – easier to do, as he was out of sight.

Easy for her father, that is – Leia was starting to miss him. Having had a moment to process all she'd been told at her own pace, and recount it, she was feeling deprived of his steadying presence, and there was no bunk on the _Falcon_ to go hide in this time.

She had decided a day or two of basking on the newfound bridge of understanding with her father was a well-earned treat, which meant that was precisely the time the universe decided it wasn't done having fun with her.

She turned on the holovision in her office mid-week to find Han's face filling the screen – Han's face, and his hair, and an obnoxious makeshift crown _sitting_ in his hair while his _face_ sported a trademark smirk as he sat in a cantina with a table full of Sabacc cards and a blonde-and-blue haired woman's arm around his shoulder.

There was something nostalgic and comforting in the fact that Leia's first thought was _'My father is going to kill me'_ – but that feeling was fleeting, and it was followed by a defeated sense of resignation, a sharp stab of annoyance, and a teeth-gritting moment of dread.

It wasn't the gambling that was incendiary, and for Leia, it wasn't even the woman – she _knew_ the woman, and even if she hadn't, she was hardly insecure enough in her relationship to assume Han was betraying her – sure, the conglomeration of sins in the photo – bar, alcohol, gambling, woman – was unfortunate, but the most problematic thing was the scroll caption the media had decided to go with –

 _Han Solo crowns himself King of Alderaan._

That voice that sounded _eerily_ like her sixteen-year-old self echoed through her head again – _Daddy's gonna kill you!_ – and she squashed it, swallowing hard as she stared in consternation at the image flickering at her on the 'Net.

Alone in her office, just back from a briefing on military advancements in the Mid-Rim territories, she clicked up the volume a bit.

"… _at least the mystery of General Solo's disappearance has been solved…we can only assume he is on a crusade to usurp the Viceroy…"_

Leia slammed her thumb on the mute button.

"Kriff," she swore under her breath, utilizing Han's favorite curse. "What the hell are you doing, Han?" she murmured to herself – she highly doubted Han had said anything remotely resembling what the feed had just reported, and she was at least fairly certain he wouldn't be caught dead adorning himself like that, but on the off chance he'd been overheard joking around –

She shook her head – the Media was like a mynoch on her back, reminding her that she was not fully in control of her own narrative, and she was going to continue to drive a wedge between herself and her father if she didn't start commanding the story herself.

She was glad she had seen the photo, so at least she was acclimated to it and would know what the buzz was about – primarily because the next thing on her schedule was lunch with her father and Rouge, which she was running a bit late for. She would not have enjoyed arriving at the Embassy without knowing about this beforehand.

Leia was relatively confident in her ability to remain cool when she was shocked, but she still valued prior knowledge when it came to an onslaught – whether it be a political, press, or personal matter – and the short moment she had to appraise the photo equipped her with a formidable level of composure as she walked from her Senate office to her speeder.

" _Princess, have you seen the photo of General Solo – "_

" _Your Highness, do you think this is a power play?"_

" _Why is Han Solo on Tatooine?"_

Leia ignored most questions, as usual, having no desire to fan the flames. She simply focused on keeping a slightly pleasant, but also slightly unreadable, expression on her face.

" _Who is the woman in the photo with General Solo?"_

Leia said nothing; it wasn't her business to give her name to the press – they'd be after her like hounds, and for no reason, as it were. She compressed her lips, pausing by her speeder.

"Ladies, gentlemen, really," she began lightly, she spread her hands out, "don't we have more important things to discuss?"

A reporter with spiky black hair raised his eyebrows at her.

"What's more important than your lover mocking Alderaan's heritage and cavorting with another woman?" he fired back.

Leia didn't address the comment; she gave him a hard look, her lips compressed – as if everything these gossip hounds did wasn't a mockery of her, and wasn't she Alderaan's heritage?

"Come on, Princess," one of them said, eyes glittering. "You have to give us a statement – he's in a bar with a girl who _isn't_ you," she pulled her lips back in a leer. "Surely you've got to say something about _that_."

Leia thought about it for a practiced moment, and nodded.

"I think she has very lovely hair," she remarked – and got into her speeder, and left them standing there chattering – and she relished it, because she really felt no need to defend Han to the public, at least not in that regard.

She _did_ wonder why Tendra felt the need to sling her gorgeous arms all over Han, but Tendra was a touchy-feely sort of person, and Han didn't have interest in other women, thus it was a moot point.

To Leia it was, to _Leia_. She knew – she knew this was going to bode ill for Han as far as Bail's opinion went, and Rouge and her father were not going to like the caption. Despite the blank face and subtle solidarity she showed to the gaggle of reporters, Leia did feel a consistent flare of annoyance about the circlet on his head.

She grit her teeth – and hadn't she specifically asked him _not_ to do anything stupid? For Sith's sake, on a list of things to avoid doing to further rankle Bail Organa, sitting in a bar with another woman and wearing a faux tiara was at least number three.

" _Well, what's number one and two, huh?"_ she imagined Han demanding, arms folded, shrugging defiantly.

"I don't know," Leia muttered to herself, dodging traffic, maneuvering into a parking dock near the Embassy, "eloping, a sex vid." She grimaced, shaking her head – now _that_ would be an actual nightmare, because Han would be actively responsible – she had a feeling Lando had eighty-percent responsibility for this. She didn't think Lando would have ever furnished photos to the press, but acting facetiously obsequious towards Han was definitely his style.

Leia sighed, steeling herself as she entered the Embassy and found her way to one of the staterooms where she'd said she'd meet them. Her father had gone with Bastan Sadir this morning to sit in on political strategy meetings with one of Mon Mothma's Vice Ministers, and Rouge had been forming committees for the gala she was in charge of, utilizing the Alderaanian survivors – all of whom were adjusting to the world with various levels of success and the same degree of utter lack of something to do.

She expected to be accosted the moment she walked into the room, and she was not necessarily wrong –

"Leia!" squawked Rouge, as soon as she saw her. "Have you seen that holograph the Media has?"

"Rouge," Leia heard her father sigh stiffly. "I asked you not to – "

Rouge placed her hands on Leia's shoulders, her expression pained.

"Have you?" she repeated. "The news this morning?"

Leia gently shook Rouge's hands off and moved over to the table, glancing at the open balcony windows – traffic lazily buzzed outside, and warm air breezed in as she reached for a decanter of water, or juice, or whatever her father had procured.

"I have seen the news," Leia said mildly, pouring sparkling blue liquid into a glass. She paused to look at it curiously for a moment, and then turned and faced Rouge coolly. "There are seventeen Twi'leks dead in an Imperial insurgency attack on Ryloth, a protest against weapons regulations on Mandalore, and the Capitol city of Malastare is under siege. Again."

Leia took a sip of her drink and then paused, feigning innocence, and arched her brows.

"Oh – but what were you talking about, Aunt Rouge?" she asked.

Rouge's expression was briefly mollified, but then melted into irritation and a grim sort of grudging respect for Leia's careful, pointed effort in placing the incident into perspective.

Rouge folded her arms and sat down in a chair, her back straight, nodding sharply at a holopad in front of her.

Bail, leaning on the table quietly, rubbed his jaw lightly, silent. He flicked his eyes from his sister to Leia, and Leia stood her ground for a moment before taking a seat. She set her glass aside, brushed loose strands of hair back, and tilted her head to look at the photo again. She noted empty glasses in addition to full on the table in the cantina, and she took a closer look at how close Han was to Tendra – there was nothing affectionate in the woman's grip, she was pointing to a card in Han's hand, and on Han's other side, Lando was casually staring at the hand resting on Han's back.

Leia smirked a little – she was cheating.

"What do you think about that?" Rouge demanded, fluttering her fingers jerkily at the pad. "What do you have to say for him?"

Leia pushed the holopad towards the center of the table, sitting back with her shoulders fixed firmly.

"I hope he has a good hand."

" _Leia_ ," Rouge snapped, leaning forward – nearly snarling.

"Rouge, for the last time, calm down," Bail said finally, with a subtle, swift roll of his eyes. He didn't look particularly pleased, but Leia appreciated him trying to mitigate Rouge's the-sky-is-falling attitude.

Rouge looked at him angrily, and then turned back to Leia, her eyes unexpectedly welling up.

"He's _mocking_ us," she said, her words forced through tense lips. "He's mocking _you_ , he's mocking our institutions – "

Leia's expression faltered a little at her aunt's distress, and she swallowed hard – she didn't think that's what Han was doing at all.

"Aunt Rouge," she started.

"I don't want to hear it, Leia," Rouge interrupted, holding up her hand. She murmured something in soft Alderaanian, and then shook her head, eyes on Leia's again. "Our home is gone and our people are scattered and hurting and desperate for connection and community and this, this is what your – paramour thinks of it?"

"Rouge," Bail intervened evenly. "It's not always wise to make sweeping assumptions based on appearances," he said, "though I agree that…I do not like this photo," he said grimly.

He looked uncomfortable, and he looked haggard, and Leia felt small. She turned her head, pressing her lips together tightly – there was little she could do without Han's side of the story, but she at least knew that Han would know better than to call himself King; Leia had told him several times Alderaan didn't crown _kings_.

"He doesn't even have the decency to mock us correctly," Rouge hissed, giving voice to Leia's thoughts, "Alderaan hasn't crowned a king in three hundred years, and even if he – we wouldn't style him with a royal title even if he married you – his lack of sensitivity – "

"Han knows that," Leia said quietly.

Rouge pressed her lips together tightly, and Leia sighed, leaning forward. She rested her arms on the table.

"He knows Alderaan's crowned monarch is female. He asked why Father is referred to as Viceroy," she told her aunt – he'd only expressed interest after it became a reality for Bail Organa to be in his life, but he'd clearly not fully understood that Alderaan had been matriarchal for quite a while.

She'd explained that her father had been known domestically as a Prince, and his family was royal, but Breha was the anointed sovereign, and prior to the succession crisis that had been resolved by her marriage to Bail, it had been Leia's Aunt Tia who was a contender for the crown, not her father.

" _So, you'd have been Queen?"_ Han had asked, a bit awed – because clearly, he'd expected something more in line with the norm of the throne going to some male closest in line in the family.

Yes, she'd said quietly, she'd have been Queen – or rather, she would have had first right to the throne. She didn't think she'd ever have taken her mother's place, though; the Queen of Alderaan's place was on Alderaan, and Leia was born and bred for the Senate and the intergalactic arena. She would have had an interesting decision to make, if that had ever come to be – but it was a nonissue, now.

"And yet he – " Rouge began.

"Aunt Rouge, the Media has to have chosen that caption," Leia said, exasperated. She paused. "He wouldn't do this," she said. She looked at her father. "It looks bad," she agreed, "it looks disrespectful, but he wouldn't strut around calling himself that – if for no other reason than he has no interest in those sorts of titles or the life that comes with it."

"Your life," Bail noted. "You have a title of that sort; your life is tied to the customs and social nuances of that title."

"It was," Leia said quietly, her eyes troubled. "My days hardly resemble the ceremony of an average traditional day in Aldera."

Rouge leaned back, brushing her lips with her hand, her eyes still swimming with unshed tears.

"What about that thing on his head, that insulting scrap of metal?" she demanded.

"Rouge," Leia sighed tensely, "I haven't spoken to Han about this. I can't – I don't know what that's about, and I can't put words in his mouth or ascribe him actions that I made up," she responded logically.

"But you'll defend him anyway," Rouge snapped.

"Yes, I'll defend him," Leia said shortly. "I don't think he had any intention of hurting you, personally, and I know for a fact he doesn't think my position is a joke."

Bail cleared his throat, his eyes on the photo still. He pulled his gaze away after a moment, listening to the exchange between the two women, and he forced himself not to give in to the same sour, dark annoyance Rouge was consumed by – because he had felt belittled by this initially, and it wasn't just the mockery of the caption, it was the intimacy of the woman sitting next to General Solo – which Rouge was overlooking, and Leia had not mentioned.

"You asked him to leave and keep his head down, and we're exposed to this," Bail said calmly.

"I did not ask him to leave," Leia snapped. "He offered to step back. Han's a grown man – he can gamble, and he can drink, he can play cards while he's on leave – it's a damn shame that even in a hole in the wall on Tatooine, he can't get a moment's respite from Media harassment."

Bail sat forward.

"He can be seen with other women?" he asked protectively.

Leia's lip curled threateningly.

"There are billions of women in this galaxy, Father, it's hardly realistic that he'd never be in the vicinity of one that's not me."

"This one's got her low-class arms all over him," Rouge said tightly. "She's practically in his lap – I don't know what the bigger insult is: that he thinks he's good enough for you, or that he would dare think some other woman could compare."

Leia's face fell into a chilly mask.

"I can tell you right now that there's nothing untoward going on between Han and that woman, or any other woman," she said icily.

"Don't be naïve, Leia," Rouge said crisply. "A picture is worth – "

"A dangerous misinterpretation," Leia interrupted harshly.

Seething quietly, she thought – first Mon Mothma, now Rouge _; when the fuck were they going to stop calling her naïve?_

"You aren't concerned about this?" Bail asked. He didn't sound accusatory, just thoughtful.

Leia grit her teeth, and shook her head sharply.

"I know Han," she said firmly. "He wouldn't touch another woman."

"He _is_ touching – " Rouge began.

"Spare me, Rouge, I'm not speaking in literal terms," Leia snapped quickly.

"Leia," Bail began, "there is trust, and then there's blind affection, and there's danger in the latter where there's security in the former."

"Showing a brave face to the press is understandable, but with us," Rouge said.

Leia sat forward, on the edge of her seat.

"Why in the hell are you trying to sow seeds of doubt?" she demanded harshly, fixing her eyes fiercely on her aunt's. "Do you want him to be whoring behind my back? Would that satisfy you? Would you take pleasure in knowing my heart was in pieces as long as your idea of my dignity was preserved?" she demanded harshly – and, leaving Rouge sitting there with a startled look, and a white face, she turned to her father, her expression hard. "It isn't blind affection," she asserted, "it's _trust_. _I know him_ ," she repeated emphatically. "You should be thrilled that I see that, and I have no doubts. You should be delighted that the man I live with, the man you're so damn worried about, gives me no reason – no reason – to doubt his loyalty."

She stopped sharply, cutting off her speech with almost tangible punctuation.

She looked down for a moment, gritting her teeth, and then she stood up, inclining her head.

"I'm – if you'll excuse me, for a moment," she said tersely.

She abandoned the room, and headed for the balcony, stepping out into the afternoon sun and standing near the railing. She crossed her arms, gripping her elbows, and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She was tired, impossibly tired, and her nights were restless – Han's absence was good in some ways, detrimental in others; there was a shadow gone from her life because she knew more of the truth surrounding her origins, but she was still coping with that knowledge and it was keeping her up at night.

She didn't want to further lose her composure with Rouge, or especially with her father, because she didn't want to create a pattern of turning into a seemingly unreasonable banshee where Han was concerned.

She wanted to scream that she understood that they didn't know him, she understood that Han was abrasive and unexpected and – well, he was Han – but even though she understood that, they should trust her.

They should trust _her_. They should take her at her word.

But that, too, was unfair, because she didn't have the power to order people how to feel or think – at least, if she did, it wasn't an aspect of her power she was ever willing to tap into.

And – and she was being too reserved about Han, maybe, but she so desperately wanted to protect what they had, she was so uncomfortable with divulging her feelings, and pouring her heart out to her father seemed – it seemed tawdry and grotesque and –

"Leia?"

She didn't turn, but her shoulders relaxed slightly, indicating she would accept her father joining her.

He came to stand with her, resting his hands on the railing, and squinted in the sun, looking out at the view alongside her. He was silent a moment, and then he glanced over at her, at her bowed head, and he spoke thoughtfully.

"You know who that woman is," he guessed.

Leia bit the inside of her lip. She nodded once, curtly.

"Her name is Tendra Risant," she said quietly. "At some point, General Calrissian will admit to himself he wants to marry her."

Bail nodded – the utter and complete lack of apprehension in Leia's assessment of a female with Han told him she had information they didn't.

"She was a valuable contact during the war," Leia murmured, interlacing her fingers.

She leaned forward on the balcony, keeping her head up.

"Would you have defended Han the same way if you had no idea who the woman was?"

"Yes," Leia said simply.

Bail raised his brows, in interest or skepticism – he himself wasn't quite sure which.

"You think you know him that well?" he ventured.

"I don't _think_ , Father," she said, her words coming out like one long, tired sigh. "Han wasn't even – he didn't," she broke off uncomfortably, looking down at her interlocked fingers. "He wasn't even seeing other women for months before we started…seeing each other."

She tried to put it delicately, because the blunt version was unfair to a father's delicate ears - _he stopped sleeping with other women ages before he slept with me, and he hasn't slept with anyone but me since._

She wasn't sure how to put what had happened between herself and Han; there was no courtship or dating in the formal or even the casual sense. The attraction and the mutual emotion had built and simmered for years, but it came down to the fact that one day they were holding it at bay, and the next day they were committed, and that was that.

"Well, what does that have to do with anything?" Bail inquired.

Leia lifted her thumb and bit her nail lightly. She didn't look at her father.

"He didn't want them," she mumbled. "He wanted me."

Bail considered her profile, and then looked mildly over the horizon again, crossing his arms.

"You know, it occurs to me I haven't even asked – how long have you been seeing each other?"

Leia's teeth lingered on her nail for a moment, and then she lowered her hand, pressing her palms together. She leaned heavily on her elbows. This seemed like precarious territory, but her father was being so civil, so patiently interested –

"Living together…five months or so," she answered cautiously. "I suppose we've been together," she trailed off, slightly amused with herself – could she define the time he'd been in carbonite as an active relationship? She smiled a little, and kept that question private. "Two years," she decided.

She'd count starting right after Hoth.

She shot her father a look through her eyelashes.

"Since he kidnapped me."

Bail gave her a grim look, glaring mildly. She smiled tiredly.

"I'm just not sure I like hearing you talk as if he has no faults," Bail ventured. "As if he could never possibly make a mistake. It sounds…I don't want to say juvenile – "

"You just did," Leia said dryly. She gripped the railing and then straightened up, touching her forehead briefly, as if steadying herself. "Han has plenty of faults and he makes mistakes all the time," she said flatly, turning to face her father. "But he wouldn't make that mistake."

She compressed her lips.

"You know…we've said mean things to each other, we fight, and we bruise each other's feelings sometimes," she said quietly, "but Han has never _hurt_ me. Not in that sort of irreparable way you know of people getting hurt," she took a deep breath, "and Father, I know what it's like to be _hurt_."

Bail nodded again, sagely.

"Leia," he started quietly. "I know Rouge is being difficult. I know she's making this hard – "

"You are making this hard," Leia interjected fairly. "Aunt Rouge is Aunt Rouge – and she's compensating for the loss of Tia and Celly," Leia guessed. "You have to recognize that you haven't done well, either."

"I acknowledge that," her father said immediately. "What I mean is – Rouge seems shallow, and hysterical, and even more wildly elitist than she usually is, if that's possible, and it's because she's," Bail paused, his voice catching a little, "she's really not doing well, Leia." He shook his head, swallowing hard. "She was more interested in the world than Tia and Celly were, but she was content to stay on Alderaan her whole life. She had no deep emotional ties with anyone off planet. She's barely coping. It's not showing, but sometimes it's so bad for her, I don't know if she's going to make it."

Leia grit her teeth, a pang of sympathy gripping her – she understood Rouge's desolation, and she felt the acute fear her father experienced over not being able to save the ones you loved.

"It's so hard, Father," Leia said earnestly, her voice low. "I know. I _know_. You feel alone in the galaxy, you feel angry when someone laughs, you feel devastated when others are happy, you feel murderous when they complain about the smallest things, but none of those emotions really fill the emptiness."

Bail looked at her, transfixed, and she pressed her fingers to her chest lightly.

"The first thing you have to do – that Rouge has to do – is accept that it will never go away," she implored, "and you accept that you can't heal it. You build scar tissue around it, and you find things to insulate your soul, but you have to accept that the wound will always be there – or you will die," Leia said simply, "or she will die, trying to make it perfect again."

Leia lowered her hand, and looked down at her nails. She looked over her shoulder, into the Embassy room where she assumed Rouge still sat.

"I can be sensitive to her devastation," she said hoarsely, "but she – but you both have to understand that I can't personally shoulder it." Leia paused, licking her lips, looking back at her father. "I can help you move forward, but I can't be dragged back to the rock bottom of coping."

She fell silent again, and then closed her eyes a moment, steeling herself.

"I have very bad days sometimes," she said, keeping her eyes closed a moment longer, and then opening them, "but I'm adapted to the galaxy without Alderaan, and most days, I call myself happy. I don't want to stand here and blame you for the ugly scenes I've made, but your – your resistance to what my life is, and your animosity towards Han, is unhinging me."

She paused.

"I'm trying to be fair to you, but it's taking a lot out of me. Please know that I understand you've got whiplash and vertigo and you're traumatized and you don't have any way to plant your feet and be at peace yet, but even though I understand that, it's not good," she continued, "because there is now discord in a part of my life that is usually the one enclave of peace."

She was talking about Han, his presence, who he was as a whole, and she knew her father picked that up. He had listened to her talk almost in awe, his throat constricted – he wasn't sure he'd ever have been able to so eloquently give voice to the torment he felt over Alderaan, and he wished she had never experienced anything that resulted in her being able to relate to pain, and describe it like it was her closest friend.

Bail nodded. He paused, cleared his throat, and nodded again, very seriously. He reached out and took her hand.

"We need to talk about him," he said – a declarative statement, but cautious, as well – _this is what you want, isn't it Leia?_

She seemed so reluctant to talk about him – quick to defend him, easily provoked to snarling anger on his behalf, but eerily silent on how she felt about him, or what their story was – and of course it had become more impossible, when Bail started to see Han as this looming, undefined specter hovering around Leia.

Leia squeezed his fingers – yes, round two of a pseudo-mediation; first her parentage, now her romance – she suddenly felt like she was scripting scenes in her life, devising a plot – this should be unfolding organically, beautifully, and instead it was all so clinical – clinical since they day they had put files in his head that said things like _'Subject: Organa, Leia A. Commander. Injuries: two broken ribs, spinal contusions…'_

She grit her teeth, and smiled a little.

"I can't do it right now," she said softly. "I have ten things scheduled after lunch, and I – "

"No, it doesn't have to be now," he agreed.

She pursed her lips.

"I don't want you sitting around all afternoon stewing about that photo. Thinking he's scum."

Bail nodded.

"I can concede that scum is perhaps a strong word," he said diplomatically. He paused. "He is a bit…scruffy-looking."

Leia put her hand to her mouth and widened her eyes, stifling laughter.

"What?" Bail asked warily.

"Nothing," she gasped. "Nothing, I – nothing."

She closed her mouth, compressing a smirk. She waited a moment, and then lowered her hand.

"You should come over this evening, for another…long talk," she urged.

He nodded, and smiled, a little relieved. He looked troubled a moment, looked down at her hands, and then shook his head, clearly deciding to keep it to himself. His lips turned up half-heartedly, and he gestured inside.

"If we could talk Rouge off a cliff before lunch…" he began.

Leia inclined her head. He watched her take a deep breath, and then she smoothed her blouse, turning and strolling back into the room. Bail followed slowly, watching as she sat down next to Rouge – who had her head in her hands, staring down at the photo. Leia silently turned off the holopad, and touched her aunt's shoulder tenderly.

"I know he's devastatingly handsome, Auntie, but really, you have to blink," she teased softly.

"Oh for the love of – Leia," scolded Rouge, her voice cracking, morose and tired.

Leia smiled at her sadly.

"If you wouldn't mind, I want to hear about your plans for the gala," Leia began, focusing on Rouge intently, drawing her attention, soothing her – somehow, she was soothing her, and Bail wasn't sure how.

Leia tilted her at her aunt sympathetically, taking into account what her father had said.

"Let's talk about Alderaan, Rouge," she said quietly.

* * *

Bail let himself into Leia's apartment with the access code she had given him, arriving precisely at the hour he'd said he would. He called out for her lightly, and heard no answer, so he hesitantly wandered about until he heard her voice. She'd indicated she would be finished with duties a bit late this evening, but it sounded like she was still in the midst of after hours communication. She was in the study, and he paused outside the door, cautiously listening.

"For the last time, I am not mad at you," he heard her say.

"You sure?" The response was a slightly tinny voice, clearly a long-distance communication. "'Cause sometimes, you say you're not mad, but you are."

"That's a _lie_ , Han Solo, and you know it," Leia retorted. "I am generous with my anger. I love to let you know when I'm mad."

"Well, there's _mad_ , and then there's that thing you do where you stomp around and don't talk to me – "

"That's more of a mild irritation, and I choose not to pick fights when I do that – besides, I'm talking to you right now."

Bail tilted his head – probably not a good conversation to snoop on. He'd have less qualms about listening in on something political from afar, because he'd enjoy seeing her work in her element, but he didn't want to overhear anything –

"Yeah, because you haven't gotten laid in a week and my voice is really turning you on."

 _\- like that._

Bail grimaced.

"Keep thinkin' that, Your _Highness_ ," Leia snarked back.

"Want to hear what else I'm thinkin'?"

"I have a pretty good idea."

Bail decided that was a good time to casually knock at the office door and stroll in as if he'd just arrived, therefore subverting any situation in which he might hear way, way too much and be unable to escape or properly feign innocence.

Leia looked up from her desktop communications unit – she was seated behind her desk, feet up, hair braided back in neat, casual loops. She acknowledged her father with a nod, and perhaps a slight, small blush, and flicked her eyes back to the console.

"Father just walked in," she advised the blue, shimmering silhouette of Han Solo.

"Why does he have access codes to the apartment?" was the automatic response from the holo-image.

Leia rubbed her forehead lightly.

"Han, I just said he's in the room with me, could you try to watch your mouth?" she asked.

Han looked around a bit, as if he could see the Viceroy despite Bail remaining out of the image. As it were, Bail stood glowering somewhat mildly, silently waiting for the conversation to end. The blue image settled, and Leia paused, glancing at her father, and clearing her throat.

"Send me a transmission when you get to Kashyyyk," she advised, her voice quiet. She paused, and then: "if you could avoid crowning yourself lord of anything else, that would be stellar," she added wryly.

She smiled a little when Han fixed a moody glare on her, and twitched her fingers at him in a wave. She reached for the button to end the call, unwilling to say anything remotely intimate to sign off, considering the company, but she was unsurprised when Han decided he couldn't resist throwing the last word in.

"Sweet dreams, honey," he drawled, and Leia spared a moment to give him a withering look concerning the sheer suggestion in his tone before she killed the communication line.

She leaned back in her seat and looked up, brushing her lips thoughtfully with her fingers and then sitting forward a bit, catching her father's eye.

"I don't believe there is a better way to segue into tonight's topic," she said frankly – a visceral reminder of Han was probably good for her father, because while Han's absence did nothing as far as Leia's memory of him went, Bail was likely adept at literally keeping him out of mind while he was out of sight.

"Did he call about that holograph?" Bail asked neutrally.

Leia considered him for a moment, and then cleared her throat.

"He wasn't aware there was a photographer in the cantina," she said. "General Calrissian made the crown as a joke – he said if they overheard him saying anything, it was that he was King of Tatooine."

"What an illustrious position."

Leia arched an eyebrow at the tone.

"Did he offer an apology?" Bail ventured.

Leia shook her head slowly, her eyes flashing with mild irritation.

"I didn't ask him to," she said.

She folded her hands on her desk, then frowned down at them, then lifted one hand and rubbed her temple tiredly, her shoulders falling a little. She held out her hand, elbow pressing into her desk, palm facing up bluntly.

"What do you want to do?" she asked tightly. " _How_ do you want to do this? Our positions are swapped – you told me about my past, now I have to illustrate the present, and the future," she hesitated, compressing her lips, "do you want to ask me questions or start lecturing me?"

He sighed tensely.

"Leia, why don't we start with kaffe?"

She waved her hand, swallowing hard, nodding in silence and accepting that suggestion. She got up and ensured all of her electronics were on low power and do not disturb, and she led him out of her office, sparing a glance for the darkening sky outside.

He followed her to the kitchen, and she reminded him where mugs were located with a gentle wave of her hand.

"How was the rest of your day?" Bail asked.

Leia hid a grimace as she leaned forward and set the machine to brew a bitter batch, searching through the icebox for sweeteners. She lifted her shoulders vaguely, committing to nothing. She watched steam rise from the machine for a moment and then glanced over.

"Tyr Taskeen may have a lead on somewhere to resettle the Alderaanian diaspora," she said finally – it was barely any intelligence at all, but it had been a scrap of hopeful noise.

Politically, her day had been chaotic, personally she was tired because she wasn't sleeping, and emotionally – a hearing she'd sat in on today had featured testimony concerning Imperial torture tactics that hit too close to home.

"I asked him to look into it further with Kell Tainer," she murmured, eyes on the brewing kaffe. She touched her cheek gingerly, prodding the skin under her eyes as if she could poke the faint, make-up covered dark circles into submission. "Rouge did end up sending me a preliminary outline for this proposed gala," she added.

"Ah – yes, Winter has her head in records and tracking systems taking a census of the remaining Alderaanians," Bail said heavily, "but I noticed that Rouge comprised a list of prominent Alderaanians for honor invites, and Threkin Horm was included."

"Threkin is Alderaanian," Leia said neutrally. "The gala will exclude no one."

Bail hesitated.

"Yes, but given what he suggested and his – recent disgrace, I thought you might wish that he be quietly asked not to attend – "

"Threkin is welcome to attend," Leia said crisply. "He is entitled to his idiotic opinions, and his invite," she went on, removing the steaming kaffe decanter from the machine. "In fact, I will have Han personally deliver his invitation."

She turned to the mugs with a set jaw, portioning out scalding black kaffe, and her father raised his brows, mildly amused.

"Is it possible General Solo could make such a delivery without taking a swing at Councilor Horm?"

"Who says I'm opposed to Han punching Councilor Horm?" muttered Leia under her breath.

Bail smiled a little, coming forward to take his kaffe.

"Sweetener?" Leia murmured, without looking at him.

He nodded, but turned to the counter to get it himself, shooting a sideways glance at her.

"Leia, are you alright?" he asked slowly – he asked because she seemed on edge in a strangely combative manner; her remarks were sarcastic but razor-sharp, and earlier today she'd been collected and sincere – though he was slowly, slowly beginning to see that her moods often fluctuated these days, and she was more prone to unleashing acidic, temperamental remarks than she used to be.

It wasn't necessarily that she had forgotten her demure diplomatic skills, it just seemed she had stopped allowing for sanctimonious blathering or circumlocution. She was much more likely to bluntly eviscerate an opponent than she used to be. Where there once had been a layer of peaceful, wide-eyed Alderaanian serenity, there was a rough layer of military directness.

Leia stared down into her kaffe, contemplating his question, and then she looked up at him with a raw expression, her lips tightening.

"No, not really," she said coolly, opting for transparent honesty. "I don't know how this conversation is going to go. I thought," she paused, "I was considering this one to be the easy one, because my struggle with the idea of Vader has been so belligerent, but there's never been anything I can do other than accept that, and either find peace with it or reject tranquility and bury it away – it's fact, and history is immutable," she said quietly, "but this thing with Han – my relationship with Han, the animosity between you and Han, that's living, and breathing, and it's a fluid thing that is hanging in the balance."

She closed her lips a moment, and lifted her mug, taking a sip, burning her lips, and then taking a deep breath.

"I can't shake the feeling that this is going to end in an impasse, and things will always be strained, or just short of harmonious, and I dread, I _dread_ , Father, living in a world in which two very big aspects of my life are in constant conflict with each other."

She bit her lip a moment.

"And I'm tired. And I don't know what you're going to say, and I don't know if it will piss me off, and I'll lash out at you, and we'll keep doing this until there's just too much resentment lurking between us – Father, I know I can't _make_ you like him," she said quietly, "and that's a harrowing thought."

Bail nodded, his expression serious.

"Well, I'm here to listen, Leia," he said calmly. "I promise, I'm here to listen. Can you…understand at least that I need to ask my questions? Or see, at least, why I…have them?"

Leia nodded slowly.

"Yes," she agreed fairly. "I'm simply not sure I know where to start," she admitted softly.

She had come across a plethora of people who didn't like Han, but they were generally people he had at some point double-crossed, stolen from, almost killed – et cetera. They had deep-rooted vendettas against him. Those who she had served with in the Rebellion respected him and liked him, and _she_ loved him, and it was hard for her to put herself in her father's shoes and look at him like a shady, threatening outsider.

Even putting herself back in her nineteen-year-old shoes didn't help, because her feelings of irritation and rage at Han in those days had most often stemmed from an inability to confront her physical attraction to him and then, eventually, her terror over her emotional attraction to him.

"We'll start with sitting down, then?" Bail suggested.

Again, Leia nodded. She took a deep breath and gathered her mug, venturing into the sitting room – as usual on these warm, breezy nights, the windows were open, and the Coruscant traffic provided a nice simmering background noise.

She sat on the sofa in the corner, curling her legs up, making herself small, and vividly, she remembered sitting like this nervously in his office, in a very different setting, staring at him with a lot more courage than she actually felt, saying –

" _Well, Giles has … he took some photographs of me that are…I have…there's an absence of clothing, Father, and he intends to…publish them."_

She remembered his hand on his jaw, the shock on his face.

" _You can't possibly be serious, Leia. You can't possibly have allowed that."_

" _I didn't_ exactly _consent to the blackmail…"_

Leia compressed her lips – she was much stronger now than she had been then, and this shouldn't be so hard. Perhaps it wouldn't be, but then again, her father was still barely able to grasp just how much she'd lived and learned and matured since he last knew her.

She took an uncertain breath.

"I – do you want to know his birthday?" she asked lamely – what was she supposed to do, start simpering on about how much she loved him?

She didn't want to share her private, hard-earned feelings about Han; she hadn't even wanted to share her romance with the galaxy, but her hand had been forced.

Her father didn't miss a beat.

"Is it imminent?" he asked seriously. "Should I be shopping for a gift?"

Leia's lips turned up slightly – the question was as silly as Luke starting off by asking who the older twin was. She blushed and shook her head, mostly at her own hesitancy.

"It's not soon," she said.

Bail did press his opportunity on that note, though –

"How old will he be?"

Leia blew on her kaffe evasively.

"Thirty-seven," she mumbled.

Bail nodded, and said nothing for a moment.

"So, when you were nineteen – "

"We weren't involved when I was nineteen," Leia interrupted quietly. "And frankly, at the risk of sounding a little foolish, my experiences before I met Han – and in some cases, only hours before I met Han – aged me," she drew her finger along the rim of her mug.

Bail nodded, his face falling some. He didn't think it sounded foolish – again, he was making the mistake of thinking of her as the girl he'd known, who could be slightly impulsive and was always thinking herself just slightly more mature than she ought to be – but that girl was gone, and in her place was one who would give anything for just a sliver of that innocence back.

"Carlist told me that he pursued you," Bail ventured.

"Not like you're thinking," Leia murmured, talking directly into her mug. She knew she should look up, but she felt…chastised, and she wasn't eased into the conversation yet; she wasn't comfortable. "Not right away. He didn't like me much, not at first." Her brow furrowed a little. "You know, in the beginning, I don't even think he considered me pretty, just…weird."

She pursed her lips – Han had certainly seemed baffled by the fact that a teenage Princess was one of the highest ranking members in charge of a significant military insurgency. He had been consternated by her maturity and frequently startled by how mean she was to him when no one else seemed to take his attitude so personally.

Leia scoffed quietly.

"You know, your real concern should lie in the fact that Luke was interested in me," she muttered.

Bail frowned uncomfortably – well, really, if things had gone to plan – how was he supposed to have foreseen that? And shouldn't the Force have some sort of foolproof alarm mechanism for preventing that sort of thing? He pondered that for a moment, and then cleared his throat, tapping his mug.

"There's something I want out of the way," he said, straightforward. "Carlist has made his opinion clear, but Dodonna and Mon have their reservations – and I want this kidnapping charge explained," Bail told her flatly.

Leia rolled her eyes, unable to help it, and then lifted her mug, taking a long sip of kaffe. She licked her lips, and sighed, holding up one hand.

"Do you remember reading about the evacuation of Hoth?" she asked shortly.

Her father inclined his head.

"Yes, you were prevented from getting to a transport, and you ended up missing in action for five weeks," he recited.

"I was staying behind to make sure everyone else got out safely," Leia said dully. "I thought Han had already left – he had a bounty on him, placed by the Hutts. We'd had a fight, and he – the point is," she said, "he came back to make sure I got out, but the tunnels collapsed. We were trapped between Vader, and his ship, and he called over a secure line to tell them he'd get me out on the _Falcon_ ," she explained, "though I found out later the only part that went through to command was some muffled shouting, and him saying 'I'll get her.'"

Bail listened carefully, taking in the words neutrally.

"We got out of the atmosphere into a fleet of Star Destroyers, and the hyperdrive was broken, and Han flew into an asteroid field to avoid the Imperials, and we camped out for a while – "

"He flew into an _asteroid_ field?"

Leia nodded.

"Successfully?"

Leia lifted her mug.

"I'm alive, aren't I?" She nodded at her father. "As are you, by the way. That kind of experience got him safely through the graveyard of Alderaan."

Leia smiled a little at the look on his face, and then licked her lips.

"Anyway," she continued quietly, "my arrival at the rendezvous point was considerably delayed, because we had to find a place to repair the ship, and the closest remotely friendly outpost was Bespin – and we had to get there at sublight speed. That's why there was some – confusion. That, and the last time they'd seen me with Han, I was…screaming at him in a hallway," Leia paused delicately, "but it never should have been listed as a kidnapping.

She hesitated another moment, and then her jaw tightened.

"I fought Mon Mothma over it. She had already recorded it as such, and she refused to redact it, even when we provided files for you," she said tightly. "She was not happy when I took leave to go after Han."

Bail frowned, considering it all. The notes there had been sparse – _Organa, Leia. A. – personal leave of absence, accompanied by Skywalker, Luke. – returned preceding the Battle of Endor, accompanied by Han Solo, commissioned under emergency circumstances…_ His brows relaxed after a moment, and then he shook his head.

"Traipsing through the Anoat system with no hyperdrive?" he asked incredulously.

Leia was somewhat surprised he knew of the system; she hadn't been familiar with Bespin or its location at the time.

"That must have taken at least a month," he said grimly.

Leia chose not to point out that it had to seem like nothing compared to where he'd been for five years. She tilted her head, starting to clear her throat, when he said –

"On a smuggling freighter? What on earth did you do for all of that time?" Bail asked – those freighters were nothing like state ships or flagships or even large battle ships – there was limited space, and no entertainment.

Leia closed her mouth, unsure if he wanted her to actually answer, or if the question was rhetorical. He was looking at her with interest, though, so she compressed her lips, resisted an unexpectedly Corellian urge to say _'each other'_ and finally answered:

"We…played Sabacc."

Obviously she hadn't spent a month and then some playing cards day in and day out, but she didn't feel it was necessarily appropriate to tell her father that she'd spent nearly all of that little adventure naked.

Bail looked at her sternly.

"You play Sabacc?" he asked – Sabacc was synonymous with gambling, something Alderaanians held in disregard. Its nonsensical risk didn't set well with the conservationist, respectful people.

Leia had never played a game of Sabacc in her life, but in an effort to spare his sensibilities, she said:

"Yes, rather well."

She thought: _Note to self: ask Han to teach you Sabacc. No; ask Lando. Then hustle Han at a game of Sabacc._

Bail nodded to himself for a bit, falling silent, drinking his kaffe.

"I see," he conceded. "It was a turn of – unexpected circumstance," he justified, more to himself than anyone else. "And that's a considerable amount of time to get to know someone."

"It is," Leia allowed, "but I'd known Han for three years at that point."

Bail nodded again, lookin at her. She held her mug tightly, using it to steady her hands, and she looked at him very intently – so there, that was cleared up, there was no reason for him to believe she was a victim of some sort of hostage syndrome – and while he processed it, she furrowed her brows a bit irritably, and addressed another thing –

"Mon thinks he diminishes me," she said. "She believes I cannot effectively lead if I'm with a man who is – well, _common_ is the worst word she used."

The Viceroy tilted his head, brows knitting.

"I don't know about that," he said slowly. "Oddly enough, I'd be more inclined to say that would be a concern if Alderaan still existed," he went on cautiously. "The galaxy is so vast and teeming with different ideas of honor, status, and culture that it would be impossible for you to conform to one all-encompassing idea of good leadership, but at home there would be more deeply ingrained, immutable customs."

Leia swallowed, heartened somewhat – her spirits rose a little, but her heart sank, because it never was easier to think of her home's destruction. She licked her lips a moment, swallowed hard, and then leaned forward a little, resting her mug on her knee.

"Don't you think I've had all the arguments with myself already?" she asked, her voice earnest, soft. "I was carrying the weight of an entire eviscerated society on my shoulders – I _am_ carrying that. I know what my responsibility was – is – I'm speaking in past terms because we have you back, now, but then? I knew it would be frowned upon, I wondered if I would be disappointing my people by not – finding some powerful match to help me protect them, and I was also, I also," she broke off.

She sat back, taking a deep breath, and then closing her eyes, and taking another slow, deep breath.

"I was alone, and most of the time I was numb, and everyone expected me – to fall apart while simultaneously expecting me to hold the entire Alliance together. I didn't feel like I existed outside of my title, and the Organa legacy, and in the midst of that, I'd been tortured, and I'd been," she paused, "I felt hollow. And Han treated me like a person."

She lifted her kaffe to her lips, speaking over the rim.

"Not like a Princess, not like a commander, and not like a fragile little girl about to shatter. He treated me like a person – an equal."

She took a drink, and lowered her mug pointedly.

"He didn't pity me, he wasn't scared of me, and he made it seem like I could still have a life. He made jokes. He teased me. He yelled at me when he thought I was being mean – and it slowly gave me back this sense of being present in the world."

Leia nodded, punctuating her words.

"I struggled with this, Father. I didn't see a handsome face, swoon, and decide to thumb my nose at the world for superficial satisfaction. This was an excruciating process, and it wasn't just about Han. It was about being able to feel and trust again at _all_."

She sighed.

"You know I think we fought so violently on Hoth because…Han must have woken up one day and decided he wanted to be with me, and he went for it. But when it occurred to me that I reciprocated those feelings…my instincts told me to resist it at all costs, because I had lost everything," she said shakily, "and I thought if I got attached to something again, and I lost it, I would die."

She smiled suddenly, her eyes glittering.

"Though I – well, I did almost lose him, on Bespin, and I guess several times in all this Reconstruction, but it was all a lesson in remembering that connecting, and feeling, and having those deep personal relationships, was better than nothing."

Leia nodded to herself and looked down, lifting her mug and taking a moment of silence to sip her kaffe, waiting for her father to say something – she'd said enough to get him going, hadn't she? To give him something to work with?

Bail sat quietly, contemplating it all. He looked thoughtfully at his kaffe, looked thoughtfully at his daughter, and took a deep breath that seemed to be accepting. He nodded, but Leia sensed he was still forming an opinion, a cautious, uncertain opinion.

"Leia," he began. "I don't want you to get angry – "

"I know what you're going to do, Father," she interrupted dryly.

Exactly what she'd told Han he was going to do – play devil's advocate; challenge her – make sure she was solid.

He smiled a little.

"Are you sure that this is healthy, and well-thought out?" he asked intently. "You always were a mature girl – I know you're a smart woman. I'm not trying to belittle you – but you were nineteen when you met this man, and you'd just been through," he paused, "hell," he said hoarsely. "You'd been through unspeakable trauma. He was older, and he had questionable morals, and debts to pay, and…even if you were isolating yourself, and refusing to let people in – there were vulnerabilities there."

Leia brushed her lips with her hand.

"I don't need you to tell me what I've been through," she said shortly, speaking into her fingertips before lowering her hand. She grit her teeth tensely. "It wasn't – Father, I didn't walk off the Death Star and get into bed with him," she said, exasperated.

"Alright, Leia, I don't need to hear – "

"No, you do, I think you need to hear me talk like an adult," Leia said sharply. "Listen to me. This was not love at first sight. I didn't even realize Han was still around until they told me he was getting a medal. He didn't kiss me _for three years,"_ she held her father's gaze harshly. She faltered for a moment. "Han isn't – at least with me – he isn't particularly smooth at the flirting," she broke off, laughing a little, "at least," she said hoarsely, "not when he's not sure he's getting anywhere."

Bail frowned lightly.

"I don't like what I hear about the…legendary fighting."

Leia chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment.

"It was bickering," she said slowly.

"Constantly, in public – to the point that people took bets on it?"

Leia chewed on her lip harder for a moment, and glanced away, shrugging to herself as if she was giving up – he really had basically asked for this.

"Father, there are different ways to express passion, and at that point my life, I was only capable of doing it that way," she said succinctly. "I was afraid of being seen as weak or girlish, and for a long time, it was how I could interact with him without feeling like I was losing control."

Her voice caught – and Han must have understood that, somehow, on some level. He _must_ have.

Bail swallowed, inclining his head tensely – it was difficult for him to understand that, but he was sure an emotional handicap like that must have stemmed from her treatment on the Death Star, and he had no intention of hassling her about it.

He started to tilt his mug around, bobbing his head a little, swallowing hard.

"I don't think he's a bad man," he said honestly. "He's loyal to you. He cares about you."

Leia closed her eyes in relief, slowly, breathing out through her nose, and she nodded.

"Yes," she murmured earnestly. She paused, and shook her head just a small bit. "Or – no. Mon Mothma cares about me. Carlist cares about me. Han _loves_ me."

She pressed her lips together tightly.

"I love him," she said quietly, since that seemed to be what her father had wanted to hear. She looked up through her lashes, hesitant, and self-conscious – she felt like she was reading her father her diary, and maybe it never would have felt this way if things had gone normally, and he'd adjusted to Han over time through a normal, run of the mill courtship.

"I _love_ him, Father," she said again.

His face was unreadable, tired, lined, and consternated. He looked out of his element, overwhelmed – and she thought it would be harder, facing his disappointment, because somehow, it felt like he was disappointed. But – it wasn't that hard. Her awe of him had evaporated, and she looked at him now like an equal; her childlike deference to him was gone with the planet he'd raised her on, and she just wanted him to know that he was wrong about all of this.

He was wrong.

His face drawn and tight, he seemed to plead with her – silently, and then vocally.

"It's not that I don't like the man, Leia," he began.

"You don't like him for me," she finished flatly. "You don't think he's good enough."

Bail set his jaw.

"Lelila, you know I never would have forced you to marry anyone against your will, or anyone at all," he said firmly.

"I believe that," Leia said quietly, "but I think you assumed I would choose someone who would never cause you concern. Someone I liked, but who was politically strategic, probably Alderaanian, and an aristocrat," she analyzed carefully. "A nice, comfortable marriage, like yours and Mama's, that never rocked the boat, or challenged the order."

Bail swallowed hard.

"I don't know about that," he said hoarsely. "I was in a perpetual fit of certainty you would sow all kinds of wild oats and probably give me a heart attack."

"But you were sure I would do it discreetly, and settle on someone like Lynce Antilles or Raal Panteer," Leia supplied with surety that brooked no argument. She paused thoughtfully. "Han and I are not a cosmic accident," she said softly.

Her father looked at her intently, and sighed, tense, and frustrated.

"You really want to pin your whole life on some man you met under dire circumstances? On a romance developed in the heat of war, when no minute was certain, and nothing was in the realm of normal, and every day realities were drastically different than you were used to?" he demanded gently, shaking his head. "Leia, things fall back into place when the world stabilizes, when it's at peace, and what was normal and fair in war is no longer the same. You can't really think he's what you'll want forever."

He prodded for sore spots to test her resilience, to see what she'd say to this, to know where her head was – had she settled for Han, and was she going to continue to settle? What if that held her back from getting help, from getting better, because she was okay while she was with him – but only with him? What if he changed his mind, and he realized he was bored with the stringent, grueling political life she thrived in – what would happen to her? Bail couldn't stand the thought of her getting hurt anymore. He couldn't stand it.

Leia looked at him sadly, sad for his lack of understanding, sad that she was so difficult for him to understand and to relate to – sad that she'd changed so much that she'd been considering giving up her last name without missing it, eschewing the Skywalker legacy and the Organa pressure and just being Han's and nothing else.

The galaxy itself might fall back into its natural order; the planets would turn on their axes and the Senate would plow on, and eventually the halls of political power would be filled with youthful faces that were born just after the victory, and never knew the bloodshed and desperation of battle, and the suffocating, iron fist of the Sith Empire - and Leia would not begrudge them their innocence, because she had fought for their right to have it, but she had sacrificed her own.

She was battle born, and she was not going to fall perfectly back into place.

"Don't you get it?" she asked, barely above a whisper. "My world will never be at peace."

He reached out suddenly for her shoulder, curving his palm around her gently. She pressed her arm into the touch, turning to look at his hand, and she caught her breath, pressing her lips together. Her father was the one who had started talking in terms of forever –

"I do want to pin my whole life on him," she said quietly. "He is what I'll want forever."

Her father stared at her, and she wondered, really wondered, what in the world he'd imagined the galaxy would be like; she wondered what he'd wanted, what he'd imagined, what he'd dreamed, and how he could really think she'd be the same – or want to be the same. She wondered why Bail Organa didn't seem to get that the only man who'd want _her_ forever, who'd pin his whole life on her without thinking twice and without any doubts, was a scruffy, loud-mouthed smuggler who didn't care if she was damaged. No - who didn't _think_ she was damaged at all.

Leia parted her lips tensely.

"I'll tell you…what I told him: in any universe, I would have fallen in love with him. Alderaan, or no Alderaan. Death Star, or no Death Star."

Bail ran his hand over her shoulder gently, holding her gaze.

"Tell me this," he said, his expression guarded, "do you think that because of what happened to you, that you're worth _less?_ That he's the only man who would take you?"

Leia set her mug aside and reached up to place her hands on her neck a moment, flicking her eyes down, and taking a deep breath. She remembered the moment he'd said that to her in anger, the night of the press conference, and Han's interference. She closed her eyes, and then looked up confidently, shaking her head very slowly.

" _I_ am not interested in any of the princes, or lords, or aristocrats that I knew," she said huskily. "I am not interested in men who watched this war from lush palaces and gave support with whispered, cowardly rhetoric. I don't think they will consider me worthless, but they _will_ consider my title the most valuable part of me. Han flirted with me, and he courted me, and he wanted me, before he ever knew how badly I'd been hurt, and violated, and when he found out, he didn't, even for a second, look at me differently, or treat me differently."

She took a short breath, and continued:

"He doesn't think I'm different, or a hassle, or trouble – nothing fazes him," she whispered, "nothing puts him off, _nothing_. I think it's because his background is so unrefined. He's not a stranger to hardship. When I told him about Vader, he said – _that's rough_. He didn't care. He doesn't know who the hell his father was, so he can't imagine caring who mine was. Can you imagine if I woke up screaming in some – pampered little prince's bed? They'd think I was unfit for a public life; on some planets, they'd lock me up - some might even prevent me from having children. Han just," she tripped over her words, her chest tightening, "when I have nightmares, he barely even wakes up, he just reaches over and shakes me awake, and he's just _there,_ he's _there_ for me."

Leia broke off, reaching up to cover her mouth for a moment. She took a few quick breaths, steadying herself, and then looked up, breathing out slowly, and holding back tears.

"I don't need a man who treats me like a Princess," she said, absolutely aware of the irony, "I want Han because he treats me like a woman."

She drew back and looked at her father critically.

"I suppose the short answer," she said softly, "is: _no_."

Bail's face looked strained, but not unhappily any longer – he looked exhausted, he looked a little relieved, he looked awed.

"May I – may I," he started, "there's one more thing."

She nodded, lowering her hands to her lap, waiting patiently.

"He's your first relationship, Leia," Bail said. "Your first," he paused; he knew she hadn't had relationships on Alderaan, but he actually wasn't sure about Coruscant, and he didn't know how far things had gone with Giles, "love," he decided, skittish with the word as it applied to his daughter. "It was formed during a war. It might not last forever, these firsts rarely do," he advised sagely, "and if it doesn't, will you be okay?"

Leia looked thoughtful, and laced her fingers together a moment.

"I think you're wrong," she said simply. She knew in the bottom of her heart, and the corners of her soul, that this was not a fleeting, wild first affair that would burn bright and then burn out. Yet – "But Father, if it's a mistake, I want to make it. If it doesn't work out…I will survive it. That's one of the things Han taught me, that being with Han, and letting Han love me, _taught_ me – or rather, that he made me remember. I can't protect myself from everything that will hurt for the rest of my life."

She smiled calmly – and she meant what she said. Han would be worth every moment even if, in some unimaginable circumstance, they fell apart.

She watched him for a long time, watching his face, the movement of his jaw, the vein in his temple.

"This is what you wanted to hear, isn't it?" she hesitated, and then she relented, and really gave him what he probably needed: "I love him, Father. I love him like you couldn't _imagine_."

He looked at her intently, and very slowly, he nodded – a small movement, a gesture of understanding. It was cautious, and thoughtful, and intent, and she felt a little wary, and a little taken aback, and she leaned forward.

"He's a good man," she said. "He's good enough for me."

He gave that careful sort of nod again, and Leia sensed him struggling to put words together.

"I want," he began hoarsely, "you to be happy."

She searched his eyes intently.

"Everything you've said, Leia, you have to understand – it takes a weight off my shoulders," he said heavily, relief flooding his face. "You sound confident, and secure, and wise," he continued earnestly, "and I respect it. I respect everything you've told me. I respect your feelings," he swallowed hard, "and your choice."

She pressed her lips together lightly.

Bail held up his hand tiredly, a slightly pained expression on his face.

"It's still going to take me some time – to get used to him," he said grudgingly. "We started wrong, and there's a …personality clash – "

"Oh, Father," Leia said, laughing hoarsely, "I get it—Han's insufferable," she said affectionately.

He smiled a little grimly, a little amused at that.

"You'll give him a chance," Leia said, her eyes taking on a slow shine.

Bail swallowed hard.

"I'm not sure it's a matter of giving him a chance," he said. "It's a matter of starting to accept him."

Leia's heart leapt into her throat – she almost thought that was more than should could ask for, so she took it, without saying anything. He looked at her for a long moment, and then looked down, his jaw clenching suddenly.

"There is one thing," he said.

Leia braced her self, her mouth going dry.

"Your remark…about my marriage to your mother," he said, and Leia was taken aback, wracking her brains, going back to when she'd mentioned Breha. "You said I wanted you to have a nice, practical marriage like ours – Leia, my marriage to Breha did solve a political problem, but that was just lucky," he said thickly, "Breha is – was – the love of my life. There was no one else. It wasn't a tame, friendly marriage, it was very real."

Leia drew back a little, startled by the raw emotion in her father's voice – watching him struggle with his words. She took his kaffe mug from him, and he put a hand to his face, covering his eyes, his jaw set tightly.

"You think I can't imagine how you feel, but I can," he said, trying, and failing, to keep his voice gruff. "I'm glad you have it. I'll never get it back."

Leia's stomach dropped, and she reached out to him, taking his shoulders – had her father broken down about all this yet, had it all really hit him? He stood with her today and worried for Rouge, he fixated on her relationship with Han, he took in the world around him, he agonized over Leia – and because of all that, she'd let herself be distracted, too, and let herself not quite notice that he wasn't doing as well as she thought, and he was suffering.

"Father?" she asked softly.

He braced his hand on his knee, cradling his face in his palm, as if he had a headache – he made no move to look her in the eye, and his shoulders were heaving suddenly. She drew her hand back like she'd been burned, stricken – she'd never seen him cry before, not once in her life had she seen Bail Organa shed one single tear.

Paralyzed, she stared at him – and then swallowed hard, and leaned forward, placing her hand on the back of his head. She rested her forehead against his, and ran her hand over his back, nodding silently – she understood. She understood how bad it felt, and she didn't mind that it got the best of him; she pressed her lips to his temple gently, comforting him – their places switched again; he, the lost one, trying to cope, she, having already been through the worst of it and come out fighting.

"You have to take it one day at a time," Leia said quietly.

She leaned back after a moment, and squeezed his shoulder hard.

"Why don't you stay here tonight?" she offered – he ought to; they could really continue rebuilding this relationship; he could sleep on this whole thing, and she could see if he was still as enlightened in the morning – he could tell her a little more about Padme, perhaps, and she could tell him some more about Han so when Han came back he really, really was accepted.

With this off her chest, perhaps she could sleep tonight – Sith, if she could finally get some sleep, her days would be brighter –

Bail was nodding, wearily, accepting the offer.

"Father?" Leia ventured, catching his eye.

He looked at her silently, exhausted, embarrassed – overwhelmed.

"Trust me when I say – at times like these, you need a _Corellian_ whiskey."

His lips turned up a little – it wasn't a smile, but it was a start, and she squeezed his shoulder again as she got up to make good on her offer.

* * *

As it turned out, sleep was not in the cards for her – and it was partly due to how concerned she was for her father's well-being. It was devastating to see him so heartbroken – she had always known her parents to have a strong, affectionate, and solid marriage that never encountered any trouble, despite all of the tragedy that had struck their early years, but she also hadn't realized it was a marriage that came, at its inception, from a place of truly passionate love.

She knew the succession crisis had been solved by their union, and so she assumed they were highly compatible companions who molded their relationship into a deeply respectful love. She knew now it was more than that, and not only had her father lost all of the same things she had when Alderaan was destroyed, he'd lost his version of what she had with Han.

That kept her up long after she had a few quiet drinks with her father and put him to bed – and her reflections on his loss, and on Rouge's struggles, naturally transformed into thoughts about the stress of all the other things in her life currently, and culminated in an exhausted restlessness.

She lay in the middle of the bed with her head flat on Han's side and his pillow pulled against her chest, holding her eyes closed as if sheer will alone would put her to sleep, tensely going through a list of things in her head that usually helped get her to sleep – but she kept coming up short, because the top five things on the list involved Han.

She turned her face and pressed it into the sheets, resisting the urge to get up and go into her office and do some work – she was tired, she knew she was tired enough to fall asleep if she could just turn off her brain…

…she pulled blankets over her head and wrapped herself up in them, wondering if her father was sleeping as fitfully in the spare room, wondering what Han was doing, wondering –

Wondering when she'd fallen asleep, because she was suddenly standing in her father's expansive office in the Palace of Antibes, running her hand along the spines of worn, well-loved books, her eyes bouncing around the room, taking note of familiar, beloved objects – she felt sure this was a dream, but her head was caught perilously somewhere between antebellum Leia and the person she had become.

She grasped a book in her hands, taking it off the shelf – _House Organa: Historical Annals._ She flipped through to the family trees, the endless lists of marriages, births, scandals – to her favorite page, where Breha and Bail's names were linked with a stitched gold thread, and a similar stitched gold thread wove down to connect to hers –

She stopped short, startled; her name wasn't there – it had been burned out.

Leia looked up, pressing the book to her chest – was this because of Giles? No – her mother wouldn't have allowed it – _Giles_? She thought to herself, frowning. _Giles was nothing, this is about Han._ That, too, gave her pause – Han couldn't be a problem, not here – not in Aldera. Han had never known Aldera.

The office door opened, and she turned, apprehension flaring, eager to demand an explanation – it wasn't her father entering the room – _Yes, it is_ – No, she countered, as Darth Vader strolled past her as if she were nothing, as if he didn't see her, and took a seat at Bail Organa's desk as if it were natural, and half of Leia turned to him with teenage indignation, and the other half of her was desperate to turn and run screaming.

" _Sit down, Princess,"_ Vader ordered harshly – Vader ordered, but it was Viceroy Organa's voice that spilled through his mask.

Leia sat – collapsed – immediately, into the nearest chair. Terror gripped at her, terror and confusion, and the edges of her dream wavered violently for a moment, as she tried to yank herself out of it – but it swallowed her, and Vader was gesturing to the books on the wall.

" _You don't belong here."_

Vader's face, Vader's cape, Vader's mask, Vader's black figure – but her father's voice; Bail's voice.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head, trying to snap out of it, and when she opened them, she was standing in a grey room, surrounded by harsh walls, dull colours – two Stormtroopers, and a glass window, through which she could see Han – _No_ – Han, strapped to the electric grid – _Bespin_ –

 _"No,"_ she said aloud.

She closed her eyes, a heavy gloved hand touched her shoulder, and then rested threateningly against the back of her neck, holding her head, restricting her movement; she couldn't look away, she couldn't move, every attempt to shut her eyes was met with a shock that seemed to emanate directly from Vader's hand, forcing her to open them again –

 _"Han,"_ she whispered, listening to him scream.

She heard the loud, labored sound of Vader's breathing, and she knew he was waiting for her to break – _Why aren't they asking him anything?_ she thought, only to see them elevate the level of pain they were subjecting Han to, high enough to scare her, high enough that he stopped struggling –

She screamed, throwing herself forward at the glass, and Vader yanked her back, pushing her into the Stormtroopers.

" _That's enough,"_ he rasped, waving his hand _. "Place them both in a cell."_

Her ears rang and her head ached, and he couldn't tell if Vader was still speaking in Bail's voice, or if suddenly it was Bail himself standing over her, having just tortured Han for no other reason than to see if he could crack her like he hadn't cracked her three years ago.

She twisted away from the Stormtroopers violently, and one of them grabbed her and covered her mouth, shoving her to the floor with her hands behind her back. She bowed her head, and found it yanked up, found herself staring at Tarkin.

He smiled at her, and she struggled to get loose of her captors. She turned her head away, and there was Alderaan, shining blue and green and beautiful – and then nothing, fire and smoke – she turned her head away from that, and there was Vader, standing next to Bail Organa, both staring at her in silence.

She gasped, her chest tightening, and closed her eyes – the edges of her dream wavered violently again, and she almost clawed out of it, almost, _almost_ –

She was flung back into the corner of her cell, and Vader stood over her, droid at his side, his head tilted curiously, his hand raised lazily. Her father stood next to him, his expression grim.

" _She's yours, you know,"_ Bail Organa said, his eyes on Leia, his words for Vader.

Stunted, crackling breathing.

Vader's hand lurched forward, and Leia flinched, twisting away from him, from the fingers in her skull, invisible nails scraping through her memories.

She screamed for her father; _help me, Father. Help me._ Vader's fingers pulled memories of Han from private corners of her mind and she struggled against the grip of his power until she was shaking, and he'd halted his assault.

He lowered his face to hers, and she turned her head against the metal wall of her cell, resisting. When she looked back, it was her father staring at her, brown eyes cool, unreadable. She gasped, relieved, and reached for him, but he drew back, and stood in the corner, observing her.

" _Vader won't hurt her,"_ he said, to no one in particular.

Pain exploded in her wrist suddenly, and she couldn't fathom why – her arm was on fire, aching, screaming with pain, and her ears were filled with screaming – her own screaming, someone else's screaming –

" _You betrayed and murdered my father!"_

Leia gasped. _Luke?_

The cell door opened, and Leia caught a glimpse of Tarkin, a flash of grey uniform, and hands dragged her from the bench in her cell, threw her onto the floor, and she put her palms out to break her fall, her nose inches from the hard ground.

" _No_ ," she whispered, the word strangled, choked. _"Stop-stop—my father is watching."_

She was yanked up, pinned to the wall by her neck, Vader's hand at her throat, his mask close to hers, and she could envision the twisted grin on his face behind the black helmet, and his words turned her blood cold –

" _He's not your father."_

His voice echoed in her head, nonverbal, penetrating her mind the way Luke was able to –

" _I am."_

Leia tried to scream, but it was only a desperate gasp, and she turned her neck, her eyes on her father – he was standing there, defenseless, he couldn't help her –

She woke up abruptly, violently, her own screams echoing in her ears, and she struggled to get loose of the tangled blankets. Covered in a cold sweat and disoriented, she twisted onto her side and her arm darted out, fingers grasping instinctively, searching for his shoulder, his arms, reaching for him – but he wasn't there.

She was on Han's side of the bed, and she was alone.

She sat up slowly, hands shaking, shoulders shaking, and she pushed one hand through her hair, swallowing painfully, choking back sobs. It took her a moment to remember why Han was gone, and to remember where she was – it took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and then it took a moment for her to realize there was someone knocking urgently at the door.

"Leia!"

She sucked in her breath, lowering a hand to her ribs, and then set her jaw, getting out of bed. She went to the door and pressed her hand against it as if to hold it shut, even though she knew it was locked and he couldn't come in.

"Leia, answer me!"

She swallowed a few more times – so, she must have been screaming in her sleep. She pressed herself tighter against the door.

"I'm alright," she said hoarsely, and then cleared her throat. "It's _okay_ , Father."

His knocking ceased, and she could sense him there, just on the other side of her bedroom door.

"You were screaming," she heard him say, worried – wary.

"I'm alright," she repeated mechanically. "It was a nightmare. I'm awake."

He was silent for a moment; she heard shuffling, and then he tapped on the door.

"Open the door, Leia," he said gently.

She shook her head to herself – she couldn't. She was too shaken by – by his presence in the nightmare; she didn't think she'd do well with seeing him right now. She flattened her palm against the door, her throat tightening and when she couldn't speak, he pleaded with her again:

"At least let me see you," he requested. "Or come out. I'll get you – water, or…tea."

She squeezed her eyes shut, leaning heavily against the door.

"Daddy?" she ventured finally, her voice brittle. "I can't talk about this. It was just a nightmare. I'll be okay."

She heard him shift again, heard a heavy, worried sigh.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked finally.

She compressed her lips; his dejection was palpable, and she wished she'd sent him home if it would have spared him something like this. She tilted her temple against the door and sighed quietly, her shoulders falling.

"No," she said, barely loud enough to be heard.

She counted the seconds it took for him to finally walk away, though judging by the pattern of his footsteps, and the change in sounds, he only went as far as the kitchen, no doubt unable to consider going back to bed for a little while.

She turned and pressed her back flat against the door, looking up at the ceiling, her skin crawling – why had the two of them meshed like that? She shivered, compressing her lips, and then pushed away from the door and went into her closet, wrenching open a drawer. She fumbled through some things, found one of Han's shirts, and pulled it over her head.

The sleeves were much too long and she curled her fingers into them, turning a light on as she moved from the closet to the bathroom. She leaned forward against the sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror – red, tired eyes, dark circles, her lips parted, the only splash of colour on a pale, shell-shocked face.

Her wrist was still aching, throbbing like it had been wrenched away from her, and she held her hand up shakily, flexing her fingers – her muscles were numb, and the feeling slowly flooded back and she swallowed hard, wondering -

She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, her lips parting.

 _Luke._

She felt him respond immediately – too quickly, too alert, and she winced, reaching up to touch her head lightly. His voice echoed hesitantly through her head –

 _Leia, I'm sorry, I was…dreaming about my final battle with him…he threatened you, and I…it must have…pulled you into my nightmare somehow…I'm sorry._

His voice pleaded with her, and she took another few deep breaths – it wasn't his fault, and if she'd been able to feel his distress, he'd surely have gotten a taste of hers - and she was suddenly unsure he should be taking responsibility; had he pulled her into his nightmares, or had she subjected him to hers? She'd wondered if that was why her hand was killing her, because it was the same hand Luke had lost, and she'd been sure the male screaming in her ears – the screams that weren't Han's – were his.

She hesitated, and then swallowed hard, swallowing her pride, and her fear of the Force.

 _I need help sleeping._

Luke seemed surprised, but she was desperate – he hesitated, and then she felt a rush of inexplicable calm that seemed to eminent from the back of her neck and course through her until it was humming in her fingertips, and she let out her breath in relief.

He backed off though, and she sensed his reticence. She sensed he was – worried he'd do more harm than good, if he did anything else in her head – and she appreciated that, because maybe he was right; her mind was still in turmoil, but that taste of respite he gave her was alluring, almost hopeful.

She opened her eyes, and looked at herself in the mirror, dragging up her mental defenses. Her hair fell forward over her shoulder, pooling on the sink, long and unruly, and she steadied herself slowly – it was just a nightmare, only a nightmare.

Nightmares, though – nightmares were more often than not manifestations of everything she compartmentalized and blocked during the waking hours of her life, and this sort of nightmare – this made it clear that having one single conversation about the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker was hardly a cure all for her issues with it.

* * *

 _I usually set the H/L age difference at about 11-12 years, though I know that, canonically, it's solidly 10 .. not much of a difference, but I consider it a compromise since Harrison Ford is actually close to 14 years older than Carrie Fisher .._

 _-Alexandra_


	23. Twenty Two

_a/n: i just want to say ... I was pretty forthcoming about the fact that this chapter ... sucks. i'm also wondering if everyone is going to hate the ending._

* * *

 ** _Twenty-Two_**

* * *

Han followed his usual routine when they landed on Kashyyyk and took his time settling the _Falcon_ in a secluded, grassy landing area surrounded by trees near the foot of Chewbacca's elevated homestead. He'd always figured it was polite to hang back while Chewbacca greeted his family after a long absence, but nowadays he was twice as considerate about it, because he didn't like anyone's eyes on him when he was just seeing Leia again after a while away.

He made sure everything was secured, shut down, properly alarmed, and situated – not that he had much cause for concern here – before he swung his way onto a rope ladder and climbed up to the treehouse, expecting the customary warm-yet-slightly-nagging welcome he always got from Malla. Grinning, he ran his hand over his jaw – he hadn't bothered shaving with as much diligence since he'd left Coruscant, so perhaps the nagging wouldn't come this time. Although, instead of griping at him to grow some hair, Malla would probably just be outraged with his lack of ability to really grow a beard.

He strolled across a woven bridge and knocked at the door before entering, placing a dashing smile on his face, fully prepared to start sweet-talking Malla just to annoy Chewie –

-and was unexpectedly greeted with a roar of outrage.

He stopped in the doorway, startled, blinking as Malla rose to her feet and fixed a menacing glare on him.

Chewbacca gave him a mildly apologetic look and trudged over, standing next to him with a relaxed posture.

 _[I'm obligated not to let you kill him, Malla,]_ he said blithely.

Han took a step back warily.

"What did I do?" he demanded. "I haven't even been here five minutes!"

Malla let out an indignant roar.

 _[Where is your mate?]_ she howled.

"Chewie," Han muttered, inching backwards. Malla advanced on him, and Han ducked behind Chewie, peering around his arm warily. "Control your woman."

Chewbacca snorted.

 _[I don't have a death wish.]_

 _[Where is she? I told Chewbacca to have you bring her – Han Solo, you tell me where your mate is right now!]_

Han shrank back sheepishly – he must have walked in right as Chewbacca was explaining that Leia was not with them this time. He'd faced down a lot of threats in his life, but he wasn't about to match his strength against a pissed of Wookiee female.

Chewbacca rumbled something to calm his wife, and his son peered down at them from another level, swinging from a vine and landing in the main room of the treehouse. He pulled his lips back in a smile, looking mildly amused.

 _[She thought you meant you were bringing both of them, Pa]_ he said, chuckling.

Chewbacca shrugged, reached behind him, grabbed Han, and thrust him forward. Malla peered at him, her dark, expressive eyes studying him – and she sniffed derisively. Han winced – he'd forgotten that the last time they spoke, he'd assured Malla he'd bring Leia around for a visit.

 _[Malla]_ Chewbacca rumbled _[It isn't that Leia didn't want to come; she's busy]_ he advised. _[You remember, she's the New Republic Ambassador, she's got a host of Alderaanian survivors - ]_

 _[Yes, we get the news here]_ Malla interrupted seriously.

Chewbacca shut his mouth and shot Han a look. He nudged him, and Han cleared his throat, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

"I left to give Leia some space," he said.

 _[Why? What did you do?]_

Han scowled.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

 _[How did you fuck up?]_

Chewie snickered – and to Han's chagrin, Lumpy joined in.

"I didn't-!" Han started, outraged. He narrowed his eyes. "She has a lot to deal with," he retorted. "A lot of bad – shit – happened to her, you know, and her old man walked off the ship expecting her to be little miss – feisty Rebel Princess," he snapped.

Malla eyed him thoughtfully, her expression unreadable.

Han glared at her defiantly, waiting for her to say something, and then slowly began to lose his nerve – she really had an unwavering ability to stare into his soul and wait, silently, until –

"I may have overreacted to an incident once or twice," he said grudgingly.

 _[Story of your life, Solo]_ Malla sighed, shaking her head.

This time, she came forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight, affectionate hug, ruffling his hair and giving him her version of a welcoming, platonic kiss on the forehead. He squeezed her arm, satisfied with the warmer greeting, grinned sheepishly, and shrugged as she stepped back and gave him a knowing look.

 _[I'll forgive you for not bringing her]_ she allowed, and pointed at him seriously _, [but I still want to meet her. The real her, not the one she has to be on the 'Net]._

Han gave her a genuine smile, his eyes glinting with pride.

"Both versions are great," he said smugly.

 _[Han's afraid of both versions]_ Chewie added wryly.

"I am not afraid of Leia," Han retorted, rounding on his co-pilot.

 _[Yeah? Weren't you the one who went to the other side of the planet to avoid facing her once?]_

"I had an errand to run," Han hedged, "that happened to be urgent."

 _[Uh-huh. Buying peaches was really urgent.]_

Lumpy sat down on a woven rug with a rapt expression, his youthful eyes glittering with amusement.

 _[Wait, what's the whole story?]_ he asked, grinning.

Chewbacca snickered.

 _[He was in her office snooping on her calendar trying to figure out when she had a free night]_ Chewbacca began.

"Because I was being _gallant_ and I was gonna take her out," Han muttered, peering at Malla for some support.

Malla arched her brows at him, poking at some food she had simmering over the hearth. She smirked, and shook her head.

 _[And he spilled what he was drinking on literally everything she had out – so, a stack of files, her holopad, all kinds of stuff]_ Chewbacca continued. _[So, he tried to clean it up, and he broke something – one of those shimmer globes – a dignitary had given her.]_

Han glared at Chewie, and the Wookiee continued with glee –

 _[So he comes charging down to the Falcon and decides he has to go to the other side of Coruscant to get rare peaches, immediately]_ , he said solemnly.

"Leia likes those peaches," Han protested, folding his arms. "I wasn't avoiding her, I was trying to make it up to her – "

 _[You left the whiskey there to soak everything to complete and utter ruin!]_

"You know," Han sighed loudly, "moving in with someone is hard, and there's a lot of habits to unlearn – I don't see you all over Leia telling her to –

 _[What happened when you got back, anyway?]_ Chewbacca interrupted. _[You never told me.]_

Han ran his knuckles along his jaw.

"Well, technically I'm not allowed in the office anymore," he confessed under his breath.

Lumpy snickered.

 _[Pa's not allowed near the hearth anymore,]_ he offered up comfortingly. _[He spilled hot water all over the place while he was alone with me and I still have bald patches on my feet from where it scalded me.]_

"HA!" Han snorted, pointing at Chewie triumphantly. "Seriously damaging your kid is way worse than what I did."

Chewbacca glowered at him, but Malla laughed.

 _[Wait until you have cubs, Han,]_ she said wryly. _[You'll almost kill one of them at least once.]_

Han arched his brows at her.

"What makes you so sure I'll have them?" he retorted.

Malla tilted her head.

 _[Your mate will want them, won't she?]_ she asked.

Han hesitated – Malla didn't ask with any condescension or malice, but with the innocent assumption that came from a culture where it was extremely rare for women to have no cubs. Most Wookiees who were childless were not childless by choice, but by unfortunate circumstance. There was no way to expect Malla to understand that Leia…was likely to get herself bogged down in complex logical arguments for and against the idea of procreation.

He shrugged.

"Maybe," he said evasively.

 _[Is she unable?]_ Malla asked curiously.

Han was taken aback.

"What?"

Malla repeated herself slowly, and Han arched a brow, still unsure why she'd ask that. Malla was well aware that humans used precautions to avoid unwanted pregnancies, though it was a practice virtually unknown to her species because Wookiees were able to conceive during only one short season per year.

 _[I understand,]_ Malla began _, [that she was an Imperial prisoner]_ she went on, looking to Chewbacca for confirmation. Her mate nodded, and Malla looked back to Han. _[Well, Wookiee women who were subject to torture or experimentation lose their fertility, sometimes]_ she explained. _[Those tactics the Empire used – their unnatural drugs]_ she listed, trailing off.

Han stared at her with a heavy feeling in his chest – he hadn't ever considered it. He – honestly, he didn't even think Leia had considered it. He and Leia had that one simple, short conversation about children, and she hadn't seemed comfortable with talking about it all – which he'd attributed to her discomfort with her bloodline, but now he wondered if he'd stomped into territory she either hadn't confronted yet, or wasn't ready to confront _him_ with yet.

He swallowed uncertainly, and Chewbacca cleared his throat gruffly.

 _[Malla]_ he warned mildly _, [Humans don't think this kind of talk is polite]_ he said _. [It's private.]_ He reminded her. Turning his head slightly towards Han, he added: _[I'm sure Leia is fine, Han]_ he shrugged his shoulders, a bit hesitant. _[I don't think she'd have an implant if there was no risk of conception.]_

Han blinked, startled again.

"How the hell do you know she's got – "

 _[I can smell the hormones.]_

Han gave him an uncomfortable grimace, but he still felt a little somber – Rebellion protocol had mandated contraception for men and women in the ranks, as they were so paltry that parental leaves were impossible to accommodate – if there were any questions about the lingering effects of her treatment on the Death Star, she'd have been required to have an implant just in case.

 _[I'm sorry I brought it up]_ Malla said sincerely. _[I forget humans can be more…squeamish about the basics of life than some species.]_

Han nodded at her – he didn't think squeamish was the right word, but private probably was; Wookiees talked about bedding and breeding the same way they talked about house and home, but if someone mentioned sex to Leia over dinner she'd probably have a stroke.

 _[Ma, throwing it in his face that his mate might be sterile was the problem]_ Lumpy said, rolling his eyes.

Malla barked at him to drop the issue, and Chewbacca gave them both annoyed looks – but again, she wouldn't have necessarily seen it as a taboo subject, either way, because in her culture and her species, even a sore side of this subject would be remarked upon openly and with acceptance.

"Hey, c'mon," Han said, lightening his tone. "Ease up on me, will you? Like you said, we're not even formally mated yet."

Malla nodded, and Chewbacca gave her another warning look. She turned back to tend to the food she was readying, and Han took up a seat on the wooden floor with Lumpy, leaning back against the wall – he always felt comfortable in Chewie's homestead, and it was a peaceful place to be – definitely nicer than dusty, murky cantinas on desert planets, where there were citizen-photographers around to catch him off guard and put him in hot water.

He frowned to himself, crossing his feet at the ankles – Leia really had seemed fine about the King of Alderaan holograph debacle, and he was pretty good at deciphering when she was actually fine and when she was _lying_ about being fine. She had, however, been tight-lipped about how her father, Rouge, and the others had handled it, and that made him wary – as if they needed another reason to think he wasn't worthy.

She'd said she was broaching the topic of their relationship with her father, but since then, he hadn't heard from her – he supposed no news was good news, and he hoped she was alright – he'd notified her in a short blip when he touched down on Kashyyyk, but it was late here, so it would be early morning there and she probably wasn't awake yet.

With any luck, things were continuing to go well – her week of recess from the Tribunals were up, and he didn't want to think about her having to go back into that mess if she was still completely on the outs with her father. However, he had sensed from her last message that things were progressing well, and if that were the case he needed to be away just a bit longer while the beginnings of a repaired relationship were solidified.

 _[Han]_ Malla began, interrupting his reverie, _[Your nest is made up on the third level, as usual]_ she advised him, gesturing up.

 _[I had to make it up]_ grumbled Lumpy moodily. _[On the bright side, you got a new pillow – fresh feathers. Which I had to stuff.]_

 _[Stop complaining, Lumpy]_ Malla ordered.

Lumpy clamped his mouth shut and gave a tiny roll of his eyes. His mother barked at him – _[I saw that, son!]_ – and he blanched, his expression guilty.

Han gave her an appreciative nod – he'd been thinking of saying he'd sleep on the _Falcon,_ as he was waiting on a transmission to come in from Corellia, and he'd like to be there if Leia called so he could answer instead of just receiving a message, but he figured he'd just go down for a few hours after dinner to give Chewie some alone time – that way he wouldn't disrespect Malla by refusing the bed – or nest, as they called it – she generously offered him.

Not to mention there was a strange sort of tranquility in sleeping in treehouses under the stars. It wasn't something he wanted to do _all_ the time, but once in a while – the fresh air, the constant, buzzing sounds of the forest thriving – it was nice.

He wondered, though, if Leia would like it, when he got around to bringing her here – she'd been gracious and diplomatic to the Ewoks on Endor, but after one night in a treehouse she'd wanted to go back to the _Falcon_. Though Han wasn't sure if her dislike of the outdoors there had just been a proxy for everything else she was going through – and the fact that Vader was ash, floating around in the atmosphere around her – or if she genuinely didn't like sleeping outside.

 _[…needs vyccal vines, so_ _I'll show him tomorrow morning where to pick them.]_

Han looked over suspiciously as he caught the tail end of a conversation – Lumpy's parents had their heads together in conspiracy.

"What? I need what vines? Why?" he asked rapidly, eyeing Malla and Chewie warily.

 _[For Leia's flower crown.]_

Han rolled his eyes.

"Chewie, I don't think she was serious," he started, but was cut off by a seriously intimidating growl from his co-pilot.

 _[I don't give a damn if it was the funniest joke she's ever told, you're making one.]_

Han stared at him, effectively silenced.

 _[You were so disappointed you couldn't get her that necklace]_ Chewie went on firmly, _[Well, this you can get her – easy.]_

 _[You can use Lumpy's sheers to trim the thorns off the vine_ ] Malla offered _, [His are small enough to fit humans since they're for Wookiee young – and I'll make a salve for any bleeding wounds you get]._

Han sat forward anxiously.

"Hang on - _bleeding wounds_?" he asked, his voice going up. "What kind of vines are these things? Flesh-eating?!"

Malla looked confused, and glanced at her mate. He said something under his breath, and then turned to Han, grinning a little.

 _[She meant little wounds.]_ he said, chuckling affectionately _[She means little wounds. The tiny slashes. We don't have a word for it.]_

Han relaxed a little, but still looked skeptical.

"Cuts," he muttered. "You mean to tell me I'm gonna get mutilated makin' this thing?" he whined.

 _[If you think some tiny cuts are mutilation, you big hairless baby]_ Malla retorted.

Han glared at her mildly, and arched a brow.

"You make these things with vines and flowers," he started, "so, won't it be dead when I take it back to Coruscant?"

Lumpy was the one who spoke up, shaking his head brightly –

 _[No, no – you weave the circlet with the vines, and leave notches to put the flowers in. For Wookiees, that's flora you find here, but I bet you'll choose something from her home planet]_ he said – he didn't notice Han wince a little at the mention of Alderaan _– [so there's a clear, very thin wax you dip the crown in to keep it preserved – usually preserves the flowers, too, but since yours will be from her planet, you'll just preserve the vine. And any flowers you choose here, I guess.]_

Chewbacca nodded proudly at his son, and then gestured at Malla.

 _[She still has hers]_ he informed him. _[The wax coating petrifies and freezes the flora]_ he explained.

Han nodded hesitantly – and according to custom, Wookiee custom, he was supposed to know Leia well enough to know exactly what kind of flowers to lace the crown with, because this was a gesture of togetherness, and the circular design of a crown was a symbol of unending connection – like with the necklace, he'd be unable to get the Molushkas she missed, but he knew which Alderaanian flowers in the greenhouse were her favorite, and he knew of a few other species she favored, as well –

The thing was, he'd have to somehow raid the greenhouse without her finding out about it, and that place was heavily guarded to avoid things like that. Counterfeit Alderaanian items were lucrative, but the real deal could fetch a fortune, and what was preserved at the greenhouse was often in high demand on the black market.

 _[You can examine mine as an example]_ Malla said brightly, getting up to go look for it.

"Chewie," Han started warily.

 _[Han]_ he answered seriously, _[No one has to know you made it if you're that concerned about your manly image.]_

"It's not that," Han muttered – unconvincingly, because it was a little bit that. "Look, I told you, I got in touch with a jeweler on Corellia – "

 _[I know]_ Chewie said gently _. [And it will mean a lot. But this will mean a lot, too. It will,]_ he paused, and glanced over at his son, and glanced over at Malla, and smiled. _[It will remind her that she's_ _part of_ _my family, too]_ he said pleasantly _. [She's not alone anymore, and none of us can replace what she had. We're just taking her in.]_

Han rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, and nodded, an absent smile flicking across his face – and no doubt, she'd look like something out of a fantasy in one of those delicate ceremonial crowns. If he could do it right – and Chewie was right, it was good sentiment, it was the same sentiment he had in mind when he reached out through his contacts yet again after he'd been able to find an authentic necklace –

 _[Here]_ Malla said, placing her matrimonial crown in his lap. _[Now – supper is ready, Cub.]_

Han carefully picked up the fragile piece of artwork in his lap and examined it, his eyes narrowing – there was a very thin, smooth coating over it, and the one Chewbacca had given Malla was peppered with tiny, dark blue blossoms amongst vibrant, fully bloomed violet ones. He frowned to himself, unable to envision himself threading or twisting or weaving these vines, whatever it consisted of, but if Leia had seriously said she liked them, and he could bring her back one tiny thing – other than possibly unwelcome Skywalker relics – he'd swallow his masculine pride, and he'd do it.

* * *

Han left Chewie alone with his family for a few hours, retreating to the ship to take care of a few things here and there – and he was glad he'd gone back, as several messages had come through during dinner. The first was Lando – he'd just gotten word of the photo on the holonet, and he was apologizing –

" _I actually found the guy who took it and sold it and I broke his camera but…apparently the New Republic has this thing called Freedom of the Press and it seems he's lodging a complaint against me…not my best decision…maybe make sure Rieekan hears of that complaint because he likes Leia and he'll probably squash it…although, he's also Alderaanian, so maybe he's pissed at us – hell, sorry, buddy…"_

Lando droned on a bit more, a wince evident in his voice, and Han rolled his eyes, shrugging off the message – it hadn't even been a reporter who furnished the photo to the press, just a silly local trying to make a few credits. He'd probably been paid well, and while it was irritating, it could have been worse, and it hadn't driven a true wedge between him and Leia, so he was content to forget it.

The other message was one from the jeweler on Corellia reporting the price of what he'd ordered and double checking a few things, specifically colours –

"… _and it's a custom piece, and you want it fast, so that's twice the usual labor fee – transfer half the price so I know you're good for it, and complete the payment on pick-up – yeah, yeah, you'll be refunded if it's terrible but my work is beyond critique – and send a line or two for confirmation: you want the shimmerglass diamonds, not painted gold?..."_

Han was quick to answer that one – yes, he wanted the pendant in shimmerglass with the subtle dyes worked into the gem, if he went to pick up that necklace and it was some tawdry, painted gold fiasco they'd hear him throwing a fit on the other side of the galaxy –

Most concerning, though, was a message from Luke, which the kid stumbled through uncomfortably, looking tired and somewhat dejected.

" _I don't really know what's overstepping my bounds and what's not, Han, but this involved me,"_ the way he started, Han half expected him to say Leia had publicly denounced her relationship or something, but he took a different turn: " _I'm not spying on her or reporting or anything, but a few nights ago I was dreaming about Vader, and she must have been, too,"_ Dreaming? Han thought skeptically – they're nightmares, kid, with Leia and Vader, it's always a nightmare – _"I tapped into her conscious or something, because I couldn't wake up until she did and I…well,"_ he trailed off, rubbing his head tiredly, and Han leaned forward, studying the kid's shimmery blue features.

Luke's image frowned, his expression strained, and looked away, sighing.

" _Are her dreams always that bad?"_ he asked, staring off to the side.

Han's jaw tightened – he didn't know about the actual nightmares; he didn't see those. He didn't have this Force sensitivity, this omniscience, he only knew the aftermath, and he wondered why Luke was reaching out about this – was he looking for Han's opinion on the Vader thing, did he just want –

Luke cleared his throat.

" _I know she doesn't like me hassling her about the Force,"_ he said dully, _"but if it's always that bad, if she's getting re-traumatized every night, that can't be healthy, and I really do think I can help with that – she asked me to help her sleep,"_ he went on uncertainly, _"and she's never asked me to use the Force with her like that, so maybe that's good – what I'm saying is, if she mentions it to you, maybe nudge her in the direction of seeing if I can help? That seems transparent, and you probably think I'm meddling, but I used to have pretty horrific nightmares, and I found a way to – you sort through the bad, and organize your mental core – sorry,"_ he muttered, as if he could sense Han's boredom.

The kid sighed, and then ran his hand through his hair. He cleared his throat, and seemed to snap out of his concern, eyeing the projection, looking straight into it so that figuratively, he was meeting Han's eyes.

" _You know, Leia told you it was a good idea to go. Which means if she changes her mind, or she decides she'd like you to come back, she won't admit it, because that's how she is,"_ he smiled little, exasperated. _"It's kind of boring with you gone, there's nothing on the holos – well, except that photo,"_ Luke laughed irreverently, and then arched a brow, _"it actually might be fine if you come back, though – the Viceroy defended you in the press the other day."_

Han arched his brows, seriously skeptical.

" _Well,"_ Luke's message went on dramatically, smirking, _"not quite – he was at the Embassy with Leia, and someone asked him about the thieving lowlife living with his daughter, and he said 'I don't know any thieving lowlifes.' So, there's that."_

Han snorted.

" _You should have seen the look on Leia's face, I thought she was going to faint from shock."_

Luke rubbed his jaw, and then sat back, shrugging. Han watched his pixelated movements, and then after a moment, the kid shrugged again.

" _That's all, I guess."_

The rest of Luke's message was a generic platitude – signing off, see you soon, et cetera. Han let the comm unit die, running his hand through his hair as he stared at the place where Luke's projection had been – of course, in the sparse communications she had made, Leia had given no indication that she was having difficulty sleeping. He wasn't surprised; obviously she couldn't downplay her nightmares when she was in bed next to him, but she'd see it as pointless to mention them to him via electronic communication.

Leia asking to utilize the Force was odd, though, at least from Han's point of view – she had always been fairly adamant that she wanted nothing to do with it, at least nothing beyond her natural connection with Luke.

His chest felt heavy, though – for some reason, he'd expected Leia's burden to ease a little when she'd discovered her birth mother wasn't anything like Vader, but it was foolish of him to think that. She had never known the woman, and she never would – even if she was evil, it would have been terrible to learn, but it would have existed in the logical abstract. Her struggle with the dichotomy of Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader, of who he had been, and then what he had done to her, was still tangible and thriving; the relief of knowing Padmé Naberrie had been good did nothing to relieve the other horrors.

Han sat back heavily, frowning to himself – surprisingly, he found he appreciated Luke reaching out; it afforded him a third party perspective on what was going on. Luke was a good guy, usually impartial and balanced on most issues. He could be a little obtuse about Vader, but he was clearly rectifying his outlook on that lately – at least in respect to Leia's opinions – and he obviously just wanted what was best for everyone. He was also right – Leia was unlikely to backtrack on her decision and ask him to come home, especially if it meant appearing like she couldn't handle herself.

He wasn't sure if Luke's message was a veiled order to come back now, for Leia's sake, or just a mild attempt to shed some light on the situation overall. Still – he hesitated to go storming back to Coruscant without Leia's blessing, because she was engaged in some serious interactions with her father that probably needed to reach an equilibrium first, and Han was dead sure they'd all be happier if he stayed away until she had decided the volatility of the situation had been dampened.

Frowning, Han got up, abandoning the console, deciding he could spend a good hour or two sorting through some things just to give Chewbacca as much additional alone time as possible – and he was just out of the cockpit when he heard the communications unit _ping_ and turned to find it glimmering with a live call.

He practically dove back into the captain's chair and slammed his hand on the proper keys to answer, because he'd immediately recognized the symbol for the private line coming in. Then, naturally, he leaned back and played it casual, so there was no way she'd know he'd almost tripped himself scrambling back to answer the call.

She clearly hadn't expected him to be around, because when the line activated, she was tapping her lips with the stylus for her datapad and staring at something on her desk.

"Hey, Sweetheart," he greeted.

She jumped.

"Han?" she asked, turning her head. She furrowed her brow, and tilted her head.

"Yeah," he drawled slowly. "Don't tell me you meant to call your other lover."

She blinked, taken aback, and then rolled her eyes at him, putting down her stylus and relaxing. She pushed away some items in front of her and turned towards him, completely focused on the call.

"Well, he was busy, so I settled for you," she sighed dramatically, flashing a smirk. "It's late there – I thought you'd be asleep."

He shrugged.

"Circadian rhythm is ruined," he said gruffly – hopping from planet to planet and blasting through hyperspace had that effect.

"Circadian rhythm?" she quoted, amused. She shook her head. "And why are you on the _Falcon?_ You always stay in Chewie's hut, don't you? Han, it's impolite to turn down a bed in a host's house."

Han gave her a look.

"You're killin' me, Princess, I'm startin' to think you _wanted_ to talk to the away message."

Leia smiled softly, resting her chin in her palm.

"Well, I had only intended leave a quick message," she allowed, "but it's nice to hear your voice."

Han grinned, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"You at home?" he asked, squinting to try and make out the surroundings behind her. "Is that the apartment office, or the Senate?"

"I'm at home," she said. "I have a light day, but I have several meetings tonight with a nocturnal species."

"Hmm," Han grunted, bored. "So, what was the message?"

"What message?"

"You called to leave a message," he reminded her.

"Ah," she sighed, lifting her eyebrows. "Two things, as it were."

"And they are?"

"To begin with – do you remember when I told you to send me a message detailing everything you were going to do to me when you get home?" she asked seriously, her eyes narrowing.

Han nodded smugly.

"Yes."

"Did it occur to you that perhaps I was _joking_?"

Han shook his head, slowly and deliberately.

"Nah, seemed like an urgent request."

Leia rolled her eyes, turning them heavenward, sighing, and then flicked her gaze back to him.

"I innocently opened a holo-mail message from you this morning thinking it was you letting me know you arrived on Kashyyyk," she said narrowly. "To my surprise, it was an itemized list of extremely graphic sexual intentions."

"I'm just building anticipation, Your Worship."

"I hadn't even had kaffe yet," Leia grumbled.

"Sex is a better wake-up call," Han noted solemnly.

"Well," she sighed, deadpan, "it was certainly a wakeup call for Jan, because he saw it."

Han stopped smiling, straightening up sharply as if General Dodonna was right behind him somehow.

" _What_?" he snapped.

Leia brushed her fingers over her lips, nodding, her mouth pulling into a thin line. She winced a little, and then lowered her hand, leaning closer.

"It caught me off guard," she murmured, "and I dropped the datapad, and he picked it up for me."

" _And he read your messages?"_

"It was up on the screen, Han, I don't think he did more than a cursory glance – not altogether unnatural, when you're handing someone something – "

"Then maybe he didn't see – "

"He did a double take," Leia advised, grimacing. "Then he, ah, didn't look at me for the rest of the meeting."

Han looked at her, scandalized – it was probably one of the only times in his life he'd been actually _scandalized_. It wasn't so much his own reputation he cared about – as far as Dodonna was concerned, Han was uncouth already – but Leia must be – she'd be mortified – no wonder she'd gone home –

Leia waved her hand, resigned.

"Jan's hardly stupid enough to think I've been chaste all these years with you, but I really don't think the poor man ever wanted to see so many iterations of a certain F-word applied to my person."

Han leaned forward again, sheepishly, rubbing his jaw. He lifted his shoulders a little, and held out his hand, wincing.

"Uhh," he started, "next time I'll leave out that word."

"No, Han," Leia laughed, looking at him incredulously, "the moral of this is _don't send me dirty messages!"_

He arched his brows, and she pursed her lips, leaning back away from her console, her hand out flippantly.

"Suppose I were to be hacked!" she protested lightly.

Han shrugged.

"The galaxy might find out you're a normal, red-blooded woman."

"Hmm," Leia murmured, cocking one brow. "That's something I prefer remain known to you and you alone, Captain."

He grinned, and nodded – he'd had his fun, and since she didn't seem altogether outraged about the little incident, he refused to be particularly contrite. In fact, he looked forward to running into Dodonna when he was back on Coruscant.

"That's why you were callin', huh? To reprimand me."

"It's not an official reprimand," she quipped. She smiled and tilted her head. "I was going to say if you're that hard up, I suppose you could make your way home."

Her voice was light, but her expression became a little more serious. He studied her a moment, silent, and then flexed his hand, resting his chin on his knuckles thoughtfully.

"Yeah?" he ventured.

She held up both hands cautiously.

"I don't mean drop everything and break the galactic sound barrier getting here," she warned mildly. "I want Chewie to have adequate time with his family, and I'd feel awful if he was pulled away right when he arrived," she paused, and Han nodded compliantly, "but things are – settling, and I did have a long conversation with Father the other day, and he's…receptive."

Leia frowned thoughtfully, and then licked her lips.

"Then again, there's theory, and there's practice," she murmured, half to herself.

Han narrowed his eyes intently, considering that – he was aware of the dilemma there, for sure. Hell, he'd started second-guessing why there were any problems in the first place while he was out here removed from the thick of it, but hindsight was different than the way emotions ran high in the moment.

"How about another week?" he offered.

Leia tilted her head back and forth, and then nodded silently, and he tried to gauge her reaction – but it was too difficult to really read her expression through the blue pixels. She certainly looked fine and entirely in control, but he'd seen her look that very same way moments after her home planet was destroyed.

"You know what's very strange?" she asked quietly.

He grunted, waiting.

"I think he's…envious," she said slowly, meeting his eyes uncertainly.

Han blinked, and then pointed to himself warily.

"Of me?"

"I mean – I don't think he wants to sleep with you," Leia said absently, and Han gave her an incredulous look – which she didn't notice, as she went on: "He misses my mother. I think that loss is just now really beginning to settle in. I don't think he has a grudge against me but – I lost Alderaan, and everything else, but I found you, you know," she paused, shaking her head. "Losing _that_ sort of…reciprocated love from another person, on top of everything else – it must be unbearable."

She nodded to herself, and then looked up, taking a deep breath.

"This wasn't supposed to be a heart-to-heart," she said briskly, drawing herself up. "Let me know when you start a course for home."

He nodded, and gave her a look to keep her from starting to sign off, wanting just one more thing –

"Leia, answer me something honestly?"

She immediately looked somewhat wary, but nodded, sliding her hands under the collar of her blouse and resting them against her shoulders. He took a note of that self-comforting gesture, and watched her closely.

"You getting any sleep?"

She visible struggled with the question, and then flicked her eyes away, her expression pinched. She looked back at him.

"Not as much as I should," she relented – perhaps just short of brutally honest, but it was definitely not a lie. She smiled faintly, but said nothing else.

"Leia," he started.

"A week, Han," she interrupted firmly, her eyes meeting his with surety. "I'll be okay."

He held that gaze for a moment, and then nodded curtly – she had plenty of support there. She had Winter, she was on better terms with her father, and it was clear from her previous messages that the conversation about the parents she and Luke shared had created some level of new understanding between them.

He nodded again, to confirm he was clear on the plan, and cleared his throat.

"I have to make a stop at Corellia on the way back," he said – just in case some idiot member of the press caught sight of him there, and word got back to Coruscant before he did, and it _again_ looked like he was sneaking around up to no good.

Leia's brow furrowed slightly – she didn't look concerned, just curious. She started to say something, stopped suddenly, and then appeared to decide against it. Instead, she fixed a deadpan look on him.

"Can you find the earring I lost when we were there after Endor?" she joked. "Oh – forgive me, no, it went down the shower drain, with the shreds of your dignity."

"Hey, my dignity is intact, Sweetheart," Han grumbled, giving her a moody look. "You should have taken those earrings out before we got in the shower."

"I didn't anticipate you dropping me."

Han gave her a glare fraught with wounded pride.

"Learned your lesson about the downsides of soap and sex, didn't you?" he muttered. "And hey – I recovered. I caught you."

"And thus," she said, starting to laugh, "the only casualty was the earring, and your dignity," her eyes glittered, and she leaned forward, smile brightening the console. "What would my father say?" she demanded loftily.

He arched his brows grimly.

"Just be glad he didn't see the message Dodonna did," he said dryly.

"Mm-hmm," Leia murmured. She pressed her fingers to her lips, and then waved them at him, blowing a light kiss. "Stay out of trouble, Han," she advised, the goodbye evident in her tone.

He flashed her a smirk.

"Get into some trouble, Princess," he retorted roguishly – and was treated to just a slight, fond roll of her eyes as she signed off, leaving him in silence in the cockpit.

He sat back heavily and considered the console, his eyes fixed on the clock – he still felt it was considerate to leave Chewbacca to his family for a while, and he was relieved to have heard from Leia in person following Luke's message.

As things stood now, his job was to spend the rest of the time on Kashyyyk appropriately preparing himself to go back to Coruscant, stand in the same room as Bail Organa, and not totally destroy everything Leia had done in his absence – which mean he ought to force himself to forget the bad run-ins, and approach it like a blank slate.

* * *

Chewbacca's last night in the company of his wife was somewhat marred by the muffled, periodic swearing that kept echoing from the third level of the arboreal homestead. As the Wookiee glared at the ceiling, a low growl rumbling threateningly in the back of his throat, his mate ran her paw over his arm soothingly.

 _[Have pity on him]_ she advised, gently amused. _[Those vines are tough – I am sure you remember weaving my crown. You were frustrated for days.]_

 _[He's being overdramatic]_ Chewie grumbled.

Malla laughed quietly.

 _[What else is new?]_

Chewbacca grimaced pointedly at the ceiling and then rolled onto his side amongst the furs. Han's swearing quieted for the moment – but he was sure it would start back up again soon. He'd at least followed Malla's orders and switched to Corellian so Lumpy wouldn't understand him, although Lumpy was fast asleep now, and he heard much worse from his grandfather, anyway.

 _[Does he understand it's a bonding symbol?]_ Malla ventured mildly _. [I suppose it's irrelevant to humans, but if the Princess is culturally aware, she may interpret him in a way he doesn't wish her to yet]_ she noted.

Chewbacca shook his head, eyeing her seriously.

 _[He's already requested her hand]_ he said.

Malla looked impressed, and pleased, and Chewbacca gave her a knowing look.

 _[You want to plan his bonding]_ he teased.

 _[He's been around longer than Lumpy, of course I do!]_ Malla growled indignantly. _[He should bring her here, away from all of that invasive nonsense, they'll be hidden in our forests - ]_

 _[Malla, you're getting ahead of yourself]_ Chewie said gently, but sighed all the same, a bit troubled. _[I think she might have liked that. But things have changed]._

Chewbacca suspected Leia would favor a more traditional wedding, one that aligned with her customs and included her father, now that she had the chance. He wasn't sure what the two of them had in mind before the Viceroy returned, although they clearly hadn't been in too much of a hurry, since Chewie hadn't even heard about a proposal until a month or so ago.

 _[I suggested to Han that you would likely be persuaded to attend their wedding off-Kashyyyk]_ he ventured.

 _[Han's wedding? Of course]_ Malla agreed thoughtfully. _[But Lumpy - ]_

 _[He's old enough to leave the planet]_ Chewbacca scoffed flippantly.

Malla rumbled an affectionate reprimand at him – _[Some humans don't want children near their Bonding Ceremonies, and she's a royal human. There are likely all kinds of proper protocols]._

Chewbacca blinked thoughtfully, and shook his head fondly.

 _[Lumpy's a well-behaved cub]_ he said, _[and the Princess likes children, as far as I am aware]._

Malla sighed, her expression clouding.

 _[I hope I haven't caused a problem with my comments about fertility - ]_

 _[They have a lot going on. I do not think it's a sore subject of_ that _kind]_ Chewbacca said dully. _[Leia…the Princess has concerns about her…genetic line, and you know Han, he's never been in one place long enough to think twice about breeding]_ he snorted. _[Well, until now. Until her.]_

Malla turned her head up, eyeing the ceiling where above them, Han was staying, and hadn't sworn aloud in some time now – perhaps he was making process. Or perhaps he'd had one too many glasses of the wroshyr liquor, and he was asleep. She continued to gaze at the ceiling thoughtfully a moment, as if she could see through it, and then lowered her voice to a pitch only a fellow Wookiee could hear, burrowing closer to her mate.

 _[You and I have both seen him fall hard before]_ she murmured. _[Is it going to take this time?]_

 _[It's already taken, Malla. He's had it bad for this one for years. He_ spent _years on her.]_

 _[Yes]_ she agreed – she had always so enjoyed Chewbacca's stories, his version of the trials, tribulations and triumphs of the Rebel Alliance, told with care and attention to detail, nothing like the clinical news reports that Kashyyyk high councils distributed. _[What I mean is, will it end badly? He can be so…so intemperate and impulsive.]_

Chewbacca shifted, nodding sagely – he knew how Han could be; he'd seen Han's relationship crash and burn before, but Han was older now. Malla was worried because she heard second hand reports of the romance, she was always getting updates from afar or from third parties. Chewie's switch from calling Leia a rough translation of 'friend-of-Han' to a very definitive 'permanent mate' had come abruptly, but had persisted with confidence.

 _[It feels to me that he should be with her, right now]_ Malla continued hesitantly. _[But he left.]_

 _[From what I understand, he was butting heads with Viceroy Organa]_ Chewbacca rumbled. _[He's been in the trenches with her – physically and emotionally –for five years, and he gets protective, and her Pa was – Han thought he was being antagonizing]._

 _[Then he should deal with that and shut his mouth]_ Malla said firmly, giving Chewbacca a look. _[It wasn't unreasonable for this man, this Organa, to be a thorn in the side for a while. Men – suitors – should turn the other cheek to fathers. Suitors recommend themselves through good deeds to the woman, not through defiance.]_

Chewbacca smiled a bit.

 _[This is Han we're talking about]_ he reminded her.

 _[But this is the love of his life, is it not?]_ Malla persisted. _[This is the end for him? If it does not work out, there won't be another?]_

 _[I think so]_ Chewie agreed slowly.

 _[And was Viceroy Organa cruel, or utterly unreasonable?]_

 _[I – only met him personally once, but from what I overheard, no, he was not - ]_

 _[And his Princess, she stood up for him – for Han, I mean?]_

Chewie nodded, wary.

 _[Then it was Han's job to grovel]_ his wife finished flatly.

Chewbacca laughed loudly, and then quieted when Malla shushed him, unwilling to alert Han that they were talking about him.

 _[Malla, you've known Han for years! He's hardheaded! He gets protective and territorial - ]_

 _[If it meant the difference between losing her and keeping her, what would he do?]_

Chewbacca arched his brows.

 _[Well, I suppose he would beg]_ he said – though he was sure of it. He was sure Han would swallow all of his pride in an instant if he was told the only possible way to have Leia was to prostrate himself, defenseless, in front of the entire galaxy.

Malla nodded curtly, satisfied.

 _[You may be right]_ Chewie said mildly _[but there were some things the Viceroy didn't understand about Leia, and Han was protecting - ]_

 _[Chewbacca, she's a grown woman. She saw more devastation as a teenager than most humans do in a lifetime. It's unlikely she needed protection from her father – unless Organa was going to hurt her?]_

 _[Of course not],_ Chewbacca said hastily.

 _[Then, would you care to start your sentence again?]_

 _[…You're right, Malla]_ Chewbacca said obediently.

His mate nodded, satisfied, and Chewie watched her, bemused – she was a wonderful female, and he'd fallen for her for all of the right reasons. She ought to deliver this lecture to Han – even if Han was likely to give her a series of outraged glares and insist she had to be there to understand and a dozen other excuses.

Chewbacca had only heard the second hand account of issues that had arisen between Han and Leia's father, and he suspected some of the stories were censored, anyway. Han wasn't specific about Leia's myriad of troubles, and even after Chewbacca had heard what was said by Grand Moff Luschek, and hesitantly asked about it, Han had divulged nothing. Chewie was also willing to give Organa the benefit of the doubt and assume any of Han's stories were just slightly adjusted so that he seemed completely in the right.

So, perhaps Malla was right, and Han should have just glued his mouth shut and let himself be a punching bag. Then again, Chewbacca wasn't sure Leia would have been pleased with that. Part of her attraction to the troublesome Corellian seemed to be that he lacked the sniveling, unctuous manners of the boys of her youth.

 _[I would say that part of Han was angry with her]_ Chewbacca said heavily. _[She didn't tell her father when she should have. You know how he can be, when he thinks he's about to lose something – he gets feral.]_

There were times, Chewie knew, that Han had to restrain his anger at Leia because her attitude towards things was an unintentional extension of an emotional handicap that hadn't quite healed yet; those were the times he usually banged around the Falcon until he calmed down and went to talk about it with her. He'd been cross with her for failing to pre-empt the Media, and the brunt of that dissatisfaction had directly targeted the Viceroy: someone he saw as aggravating Leia's problems, and interfering with his personal happiness.

 _[He's lost a lot in the past]_ Malla allowed, _[but the way you talk – the way this girl has thumbed her nose at an entire hierarchy for him – his fear seems misplaced]._

 _[It is]_ Chewie agreed simply _. [Han will realize that. Abandonment is a strong feeling to overcome]._

Malla nodded, moving closer. She was quiet a moment, and then cleared her throat.

 _[I do not want to see him hurt again, Chewie]_ she warned. _[Particularly if he's messed it up somehow. The last two times - ]_

 _[Bria wasn't his fault]_ Chewie said edgily.

 _[Jessa was.]_

Chewie nodded – conceding that point.

 _[The beauty in all that heartbreak is that he knows what he's doing now]_ Chewbacca said succinctly.

Han's two other instances of deep romantic involvement had ended in ash, to be sure, but this was different. He wished Malla could see the two of them – it was more mature than he'd been with Jessa, and for Sith's sake, if he hadn't loved Bria and witnessed her struggles with her drug addiction, he'd have been blindsided by Leia's level of trauma.

Malla smiled a little, touching Chewbacca's jaw.

 _[No heart knows how to love as well as one that's been broken]_ she murmured sagely, and then, after a moment, sighed contently and glanced up at the ceiling. _[He's been too quiet for too long]_ she ventured. She poked her mate _. [Go check on him]._

 _[I don't want to get up!]_ Chewbacca protested _. [You go!]_

 _[He's your Cub]._

Chewbacca scowled.

 _[Help him with that crown if he needs it]_ she wheedled.

Chewbacca looked scandalized.

 _[I can't help him; it's bad luck!]_

Malla laughed good-naturedly.

 _[They're not Wookiees. It doesn't matter.]_ She nudged at him insistently. _[Go!]_

Growling and protesting, Chewbacca dragged himself up, trudging across the second level and then heaving himself up a rope ladder to peer into an alcove on the third floor.

Han was still up, a vine held between his teeth as he glared at a circlet of vines in his lap, Lumpy's sheers clutched in one of his hands. He looked consternated, irritated, and defeated all at once, and Chewbacca's unrestrained snicker gave him away.

Han looked up and glared sharply, his brow furrowing into a scowl.

"This is torture," he growled.

Chewbacca nodded brightly.

 _[Think about the look on her face, though.]_

Han looked mutinous, and he set his jaw stubbornly – but he turned his attention abruptly back to the vines he was working with, and Chewbacca grinned, inching back down the ladder to tell his wife that Han was going to do just fine.

* * *

Back on Coruscant, in the thick core of everything, Leia had been dwelling on a single nightmare for days.

As a general rule, she didn't dwell on her nightmares; they were abusive, tiring, and often violent, but they were nightmares, and though the heart-racing and the shaky fear that came with them lingered for an hour or so after, by daylight she was able to move on with her life, because the blurriness of the subconscious manifestations were not always as harsh as memories of the real thing.

Never before, though, had her father featured in a nightmare quite so – unnervingly.

She'd dreamed about her father before – countless times; she'd dreamed she was at dinner with him, in his office with him talking politics with him; she'd had nightmares in which her peaceful life with him faded into red hues and smoke and took on the grainy, debauched tint of the Death Star and reminded her Alderaan was dead and everything with it – but until that dream, a few nights ago, she'd never had a nightmare in which Bail Organa remained present throughout.

Never before had she confronted both of them at once; Viceroy and Vader.

When she told Han that she wasn't sleeping as much as she should it wasn't, as he no doubt suspected, because she was suffering from a flare up of relentless bad dreams, as she sometimes did, it was because she was purposely avoiding sleep because she was desperate to avoid that particular nightmare again. She always woke up from bad dreams with a sense of panic, but this one left her with a feeling of wariness about her father, a feeling that had persisted into the next morning, when he asked her over breakfast, with innocent concern, if she was alright, and she'd had to swallow unbidden accusations.

 _Why didn't you keep me safe from him, Father?_

The feeling had eased during the day, and evaporated, but she still remembered it; the impression of it lingered – and she was moving forward so well with him, she didn't want it to come back.

 _He loves you_ , she told herself – promised herself. _You chose the Rebellion. It wasn't constructed for you._

She believed that. She believed he was sincere, when he swore to her he would have let her have any life she wanted, that he would have given her Alderaan and nothing else if she turned up her nose at insurgency, but –

 _I didn't have all the facts._

That dull, resigned thought kept recurring.

 _It_ was _my choice – but how informed was my decision when I was missing this brutal factor?_

Leia rubbed her forehead lightly, pushing her hand back through her hair and reaching up to begin loosening it from its long braid – her comfort these days, in the late hours when she didn't want to sleep, was Winter; Winter who had always been a night owl.

Her father had gone with Rieekan and his brother to the other side of the planet for the day, and she wasn't sure if he'd be back this evening, or tomorrow morning – and she wasn't sure if he'd return to her apartment when he did. He'd been staying with her off and on, both of them working with careful diligence to regain some of their old rapport.

In his absence, Leia had spent her off day with Winter, acclimating Rouge to the idea of Han returning – a conversation that bordered on entirely ridiculous, at certain points, due to Rouge's increasingly impossible to decipher attitude towards Han. They had parted ways when Leia sought out Luke for dinner, but now, hours later, she'd called Winter again – she wanted her to come over, and she wanted her to perform her part in a somewhat familiar stunt.

She had been spending too much time since the whole truth of her past came out feeling like an imposter, catching sight of herself in mirrors and seeing herself in fragments – the Princess of Alderaan, the soldier from the Battle of Hoth, Madam Ambassador, Leia, Sweetheart – and the somewhat absurd thought had occurred to her that she had known how to defiantly control her image since she was ten years old, and there was only one royal Aunt to screech at her about it this time.

She was detangling her hair by hand when Winter sounded the chimes and then entered with the code – as with her Father, Leia had the door set on open and had awarded Winter temporary access.

Her friend's bright, icy blue eyes were an immediate comfort that improved her mood, and she breathed a sigh of relief to know she'd be distracted from herself for a while.

"I've had a thought," Winter announced, without preamble. The door slid shut behind her and she dropped a bag on the table as she collapsed gracefully next to Leia on the sofa. "I think we should set Rouge up with Carlist."

Leia's hand froze in her hair, and she looked at Winter guardedly.

"What has Carlist ever done to you?" she asked crisply.

Winter laughed gleefully.

"Leia, we have to distract that old biddy, and Carlist is one of those guys who you can just see ending up with an uptight, dusty sort of broad," she sighed, batting her lashes.

Leia arched her brows, shaking out her hair and compressing her lips.

"Hear me out," Winter drawled. "Rieekan is technically one of the highest ranking Alderaanian besides Pasha, you, Rouge, and myself," she noted. "He's upper echelon, he's handsome – be fair, he is," Winter said logically, noting the skeptical look on Leia's face, "and I heard Pasha say that General Solo reminds him of a young Carlist. So there."

Leia looked startled.

"When did Father say that?" she asked.

"I overheard him talking to Rouge the other day," Winter said blithely.

Leia leaned back a little, thoughtful. She, of course, hadn't known Carlist as a young man, and she knew he'd always been a very driven, law-abiding sort of man – aside from the whole Alliance involvement – but there was another small indicator that her father was going to be able to adjust to Han appropriately: Bail respected Rieekan, and if he was comparing Han to him –

"Nevertheless," Leia said dryly, "I suggest we avoid matchmaking for the time being."

Winter put her hand to her forehead.

"Fair enough," she said, feigning a forlorn sense of loss.

Leia smiled indulgently, and shifted forward.

"You spoke with Tycho today, didn't you?" she asked.

"Yes," Winter said warmly, lowering her hand immediately. "He's going to escort me to this gala, whenever it takes place."

Leia beamed – she was delighted Winter had been able to reconnect with someone like that even if now, it suddenly also reminded her that her father was still grappling with the loss of his companion.

"Is Han coming back soon?" Winter ventured, smoothing out the edge of the casual dress she was wearing.

"He should dock in a few days," Leia murmured. "He sent me his flight plan two nights ago; he's stopping on Corellia briefly."

Winter looked curious, and Leia shrugged, the barest hint of a smile touching her lips.

"He's probably getting me a ring," she said quietly. "He thinks he's subtle."

Winter grinned brightly and leaned forward, taking Leia's hands.

"If that's what he's doing, you'll have to wear it," she said earnestly. "It's a good way to tell Pasha," she added.

Leia smiled slightly and glanced down – she hadn't yet availed her father of the fact that she and Han specifically considered themselves engaged, because she wanted him to be more at ease with Han first. She'd told him that she wanted Han forever, and that was enough for now. Considering she hadn't told anyone else, either – aside from Chewie and Winter – there was no risk of someone screaming the news at him on the side of the street.

It was throwaway news, anyway; married or not, she'd consider herself committed to Han.

Winter shook her hand slightly.

"Don't you want to squeal and kick your feet a little, Leia?" she encouraged.

Winter's excitement was infections, though Leia only smiled a tiny bit more.

"He's already asked me to marry him," she said. "He asked last year."

Winter shrugged – she didn't think that made it any less exciting, but nonetheless –

"You've never told me how it went."

Leia pursed her lips hesitantly.

"The – proposal?" she asked.

Winter nodded intently.

Leia tilted her head and blushed.

"It wasn't…conventional," she said, almost as a warning. "There's no…it was just Han."

"You're happy with it?" Winter asked.

"Yes," Leia said softly.

Winter shrugged, nodding matter-of-factly.

"It's irrelevant if it was traditional, then," she said. "Besides – traditional for you would have been him asking Pasha and Breha and they would have relayed the offer to you."

Leia imagined Han doing such a thing, and started to laugh, which delighted her friend. She pulled back, and Leia pushed her hair back, peering at Winter around her arm.

"I surrender – I'll tell you about it," she relented. "I must warn you – there's a fair bit of crying involved."

Winter looked intrigued, and before she could press, Leia sat forward, on edge, but alert.

"First, however," she said, "I call on your services again."

"Ah, yes," agreed Winter, waving her hand illustriously. "You'll need to stand in front of me – it's longer now."

Leia stood, sweeping a gold pair of shears off the table as she rose, clutching them tightly in her fingers. She remembered being ten, and conspiring with Winter in the shadows of her balcony in the palace; she remembered being fifteen, the night before a formal presentation, defiant, the both of them locked in her en suite spa.

She turned at the waist, handing the tool to Winter, briefly tensing before she let go, and Winter's hand remained still, thoughtful. Her other hand fell through Leia's hair loosely, working out the last knots, smoothing it down.

"You're sure about this, Leia?" Winter asked, in her calm, introspective voice.

Leia looked over her shoulder, catching sight of her mane out of the corner of her eye, reflecting – the long, thick locks, left to grow wild and unchecked, reminiscent of her days in ceremonial hairstyles, the last remnant of the untouched and innocent Princess she'd been. It weighed heavy on her shoulders, a final vestige she needed to let go – not out of disrespect, but because she, and her Father, and so many others around her, had to embrace the things that had changed during the war – she needed a way to physically feel like she could control who she was, and she needed to do it without hurting herself – that, she realized simply, was easy –

She nodded at Winter, and faced forward as Winter slid her fingers into the loops of the scissors.

* * *

 _this entire chapter basically exists for a) Luke's exposition and b) Leia cutting her hair. and then I had to just throw nonsense in around it. also, I hope you all have fun with the idea of Han being his totally suave and cool and nearly dropping Leia in the shower._

 _-Alexandra_


	24. Twenty Three

_a/n: and here we are, all back on Coruscant ..._

* * *

 _ **Twenty Three**_

* * *

The talk of the town was Princess Leia's new look.

What with the considerable amount of coverage it got, one would have thought she had shaved her head and dyed her scalp purple rather than simply sheared off some inches – which she could do and still have rather long hair. As it were, the opinions of the press were not the ones she cared about – and the opinions of those closest to her were not entirely what she'd expected.

Rouge, instead of squawking and screeching about it, had remarked irritably that it was a counterproductive action to take, as she'd need extensions if she wanted a traditional Alderaanian wedding coif – which was a slightly startling reaction, given it implied Rouge was of the opinion that Leia was getting married soon, and perhaps might have entertained the idea that said marriage would involve Han.

Her father had seemed mildly consternated, but had merely referenced the times she'd done it in the past, when she was an impetuous child – _'I suppose I won't make you wear a wig,'_ he'd quipped – though she sensed his calm was deliberate; he seemed to be thinking _'don't spook her;'_ and she felt him studying her quietly for the next few days, as if he expected the action was precipitating a psychotic break.

It was nothing of the sort, however; Leia had not decided to cut her hair on a whim, or in a fit. She had thought about it, and she had considered it, and she wanted to do it – and she wore it loose now, standing out on the balcony of her apartment and thriving on it. She reached up to run her fingers through it lightly, and felt oddly liberated when she reached the neatly trimmed edges, marveling at the new sensation – it was a thrill to thoughtfully curl a strand of hair around the tip of her finger.

Leia closed her eyes, breathing in the warm, evening air deeply – Coruscant always smelled faintly metallic, faintly chemical, and it never failed to provoke in her a longing for the clean freshness of Alderaan, and the way the outdoors in Aldera carried the subtle scent of the surrounding flora, and the breeze was light and unsullied.

She slid her hands out of her hair and pressed them to the marble banister, listening for sounds behind her – she expected Han soon, and it was Han's opinion she was intrigued about, not only concerning the hair, but because she'd finally elected to wear the green ensemble he bought her on Corellia last year.

It wasn't much longer before the door chime rang lazily, and then she heard a careless _thud_ \- boots, or Han's bag, no doubt – and she opened her eyes, glancing out over the view, keeping her back to him, focusing on cancelling out the dull hum of traffic and amplifying the sounds of Han looking for her.

"Leia?"

She smiled to herself, and waited – until she heard him in the balcony doorway.

"Hey, stranger."

She clutched the bannister, and then turned around, lifting her head, tossing her hair a little, meeting his eyes.

He leaned against the door a moment, taking her in – he'd heard some murmuring about her hair when he docked the Falcon and headed to military headquarters to report to Rieekan, but he hadn't really listened to it. He'd been looking forward to seeing her in the flesh, rather than in the blue shimmers of electronic communication, and with her in front of him now, his mouth felt dry.

Her hair – it was still long, but instead of falling below her hips, now it fell only to her breasts – and even if he was taken aback, he relished it, because if her hair had still been as long as it was, it would have covered the geometric cut-outs around the midriff of that emerald jumpsuit. It looked silky and healthy, softly curled around her face, and the new style paired impeccably with the nature of the outfit: alluring, but not tawdry.

Her brows lifted a little, expectantly, and he strode forward, first placing his hands on her hips, fingers brushing into the exposed skin reverently, then hands sliding up her sides, pressing brazenly into her ribs and breasts, until his palms were on her neck and his fingers were tangling into her hair.

"Han," she started, a shiver running down her spine.

He shook his head and kissed her, silencing her, his hands slipping further into her hair, running through it with fascination, familiarizing himself with it. Leia clung to the edges of his jacket for a moment, finally pulling back with a gasp for air, and he simply moved his lips to her jaw, pressing kisses there until he reached her ear.

"Your hair," he said huskily. "You cut your hair."

She nodded.

"Yes."

"Why?" he mumbled, kissing her ear, his teeth grazing her lightly.

She closed her eyes and placed her head on his shoulder, reveling in the attention. His hands tightened and loosened in her hair and for a second, he buried his nose in it and breathed her in.

"I wanted to," she answered succinctly.

He seemed completely satisfied with that response, and pressed her back against the railing, turning his attention to her neck. She sighed, tilting her head back, and he pressed closer, bending to kiss her bare shoulder, where the skin was exposed by the sleeveless top half of the outfit.

One of his hands drifted back to her waist and pressed into her side where the skin could be touched, and he slipped his fingers under the soft material. Leia bit her lip, and leaned her head forward, her pulse quickening.

"I take it you like it?" she asked, turning her head to his ear.

He nodded, and after a moment, lifted his head.

"You look incredible," he growled lightly, and pressed a swift kiss to her jaw, pulling back just slightly to meet her eyes.

She smiled, a delighted pink tinge blooming on her cheeks, and then feigned a serious expression, lowering her lashes.

"Don't you dare rip this clothing off, Han Solo," she advised coquettishly. "The man who bought it for me would be displeased – I believe it was quite expensive. Shimmersilk, you know."

Han tugged a little playfully on the material, though not hard enough to actually rip it.

"Guy sounds like an idiot."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," Han retorted, eyes tracing the slightly plunging neckline.

"And why is that?" she asked primly.

"Can't imagine what got into him, buying you clothes."

"Hmm," Leia murmured, waiting for the rest of his line.

"I shouldn't be buying you clothes," Han said, leaning forward to kiss her, pulling back to smirk – abandoning the flirtatious third person, "I should be burning your entire wardrobe," he quipped.

"I can't be naked all the time, Han."

"Says _who_?"

"It would take the fun out of it."

" _Says who?"_ he demanded again.

She laughed, and reached up to brush her knuckles against his jaw, pulling him down for another kiss. His hands found their way back to her hair for a moment, reverent again, and then ran down her back, around to her stomach, and made their way back up. She broke the kiss, breathless, and he slid his hand into the front of her jumpsuit, inching under green material, and then under her bra to stroke the soft skin of her breast.

"I missed you," he said in her ear, the tone of his voice implying he had every intention of dragging her straight into their bedroom.

She nodded.

"I missed you, too," she agreed softly, slinging her arms loosely around his hips.

She allowed his touch for a little longer, before clearing her throat softly and leaning back some, reaching up with one hand to remove his, and lace her fingers into his, holding it against her chest.

"You have to wait," she revealed, expecting – and receiving – a mildly hysterical reaction.

His eyes flickered with a mixture of wounded outrage and forlorn deprivation.

"You're finished with work," he protested, looking her over. "You – aren't you? You wouldn't have worn that to work."

Leia glanced down at her outfit and looked back up, smiling a little proudly.

"My day is over – and I did wear this to work," she added, prim. "I wore it for the afternoon hours – I was handling Alderaan issues at the Embassy."

Han looked completely floored, his eyes roaming more slowly over the ensemble – he tried to imagine Leia presiding over a meeting in it, and then, wickedly, he tried to imagine the look on her peers' faces. It wasn't that the outfit was inappropriate – in fact, compared to the ceremonial dress of some species, it was downright puritanical – but it wasn't typical of Princess Leia, who at the very least wore a high collar if her tops were sleeveless.

It seemed she'd found a way to make her title a little more _hers_.

He gave her a look.

"I'm not seein' the problem," he said, leaning forward to kiss her again.

She squeezed his hand tightly, and dodged his mouth, looking up at him through her lashes. She hesitated, and he looked at her intently, waiting.

"It's – that," she began, unsure of his reaction, "Father has been staying here. I'm not sure when he's going to walk in," she advised quietly. "I'd rather not be in the throes of…" she trailed off.

Han grimaced slightly, his fingers twitching in her grasp.

"Yeah, I get it," he muttered hastily. He fell silent a moment, and then gave her a look. "I was gonna take you in the bedroom, though," he said seriously. Han smacked the bannister behind her loudly. "He wouldn't walk in and see you bent over this - "

" _Han_!" she yelped, loosening her grip on him and swatting him hard.

She flushed, put her fingers to her head, and started laughing, shuddering in horror at the thought. She pressed her hand to her mouth and looked up at him, amused. Han grinned back at her, and ran his hands up and down her shoulders lightly. When she composed herself a little, he asked, warily –

"Why's he been staying here?" Then, quickly: "And – you gave him the code?"

She corrected him swiftly –

"Only the code Luke and Winter have," she said. "The one that grants access if we already have the door unlocked," she soothed – she'd never give out their personal, private code without speaking to Han first. "I thought it was a gesture of trust that … we both needed."

Han nodded cautiously.

"And the staying here?" he prompted, hands still drifting up and down her arms in a familiar caress.

Leia sighed, her face falling slightly.

"He was…pretty distraught, after we talked about you," she felt Han stiffen, and put her hands on his shoulders gently, smoothing his jacket, "not because of you," she murmured reassuringly. "It's just everything – and like I told you, he's devastated over losing my mother, and after that conversation he really – had to take a step in relinquishing in control over my life, which might have been the one thing he was centering himself on," she trailed off a moment, sighing. "He's just been here … getting to know me," she said finally, her brow furrowing. "Trying to ease the tension."

Han frowned, thoughtful, and his hands came to a stop. He studied her expression for a moment, and she smiled half-heartedly, waiting for his response.

"That's good, isn't it?" he said finally, his words gruff. "It worked, me leavin'? Things are better between you two?"

Leia nodded, breathing out slowly.

"I think so," she agreed, compressing her lips, "and he's…ready for you."

Leia's assessment was hesitant, and Han took her words with a grain of salt. His own time away from Coruscant and away from the thick of the conflict had given him better perspective and allowed him time to calm down, but he knew damn well that things might be different when he was face to face was the Viceroy again. He was willing to bet that Leia had concerns of the same nature, and he was smart enough to know Bail's acceptance was likely to be a lot rougher in practice than it was in theory.

Han took a step back and folded his arms, his eyes on Leia carefully. He studied her differently this time – not like a lover who had been deprived of her touch for too many nights, but like a partner who cared about her mental well-being just as much as physical gratification.

She looked _good_ , there was no doubt about that, but he knew her well enough to look closer, and to pierce through the day-to-day façade. He could identify the barest hint of dark shadows under eye make-up when no one else could, and he could tell when the colour in her cheeks was purely synthetic blush added to hide the paleness underneath.

"How are you doing?" he asked intently, expecting more than a superficial answer.

Leia's shoulders fell, relaxing a little, and she leaned back, her arms braced on the balcony. Knees bent, she shrugged her shoulders, squinting in the fading light.

"I'm tired," she admitted haggardly. She looked at him and gave him a faint, wry smile. "In fact, you can do whatever you want to me later, but I might sleep through it…" she trailed off, and he returned the smile a little, though the idea of doing anything to her while she was asleep wasn't appealing to him.

She sighed, and loosely folded her arms, clutching her elbows.

"I thought – well, this was foolish, I know that, but I clung to the idea anyway – that it would all just…get better, once I had this conversation about Vader."

"You thought what would get better?" Han asked gently.

"I don't know," she murmured, shaking her head. "Everything."

She tilted her head back and looked up at the cloudy red sky, her lips compressed.

"It was good in some ways," she said, almost to herself. "Bad in others."

"What was the good part?" Han prompted.

Leia lowered her head and looked at him again.

"Knowing Padmé Naberrie was good, and beloved, and respected," she said quietly.

"And the bad?" Han ventured, though he already guessed –

"That she fell in love with…him."

Leia licked her lips – perhaps that was bothering her, perhaps it was still merely the persistent old wound of knowing Darth Vader had a patrilineal connection to her while simultaneously being her worst nightmare. It was nice to have answers in some respect, and she wouldn't say the answers had heightened her inner turmoil, but they had given it new dimensions.

Han tilted his head.

"Where's Luke in all this?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

Leia seemed startled by the question, and then she looked sad. She sighed, lifting her shoulders.

"I think it set him back, actually," she said, resigned. "It's not…the same as me, but he was really building up this woman in his head and I think her end was just hard for him to stomach. I understand him, I just don't…blame her. I understand her better. Or I'd...I'd like to. Perhaps."

She paused.

"He's been having hideous nightmares," she said abruptly, tiredly.

Han thought about that – but then, he knew that, didn't he? Luke had mentioned it. He'd mentioned having his own bad dreams, and something about witnessing Leia's –

"He told me," Han confessed flatly. He didn't want to keep it from her. "He said you asked him to help you sleep."

A flash of irritation whipped across Leia's face, wrinkled her nose a moment, but then it vanished, and she looked calmer, and withdrawn for a moment. She sighed and lifted her shoulders carelessly, as if it couldn't be helped.

"He's worried," she said, and it sounded like she was telling it to herself, forcing herself not to lash out at Luke. "We keep…dragging each other into our nightmares and he doesn't understand that…mine are normal," she said quietly. "Well," she breathed, "not normal but – "

"Yeah, that's what he asked me," Han said heavily. " _Are her nightmares always that bad_?" he quoted.

Leia winced – poor Luke. She thought of all the times she wished he'd try harder to understand why she was so, so averse to Vader, and yet now, knowing he was glimpsing it, she felt the need to shield him from the worst of it.

Han tilted his head towards the interior of the apartment.

"Come inside," he suggested.

She pushed away from the balcony and followed, sighing and collapsing on the sofa as he strolled into the kitchen to pour drinks. He didn't ask what she wanted, but came back with two glasses of wine, side-stepping his bag as he made his way towards her.

She gave it a pointed look that clearly implied he should refrain from throwing his stuff on the floor in the middle of walkways.

Han sat down next to her and swung his feet up on the table, handing Leia her glass. She held it towards her and curled into his side, resting her head on his chest near his heart.

"It hasn't so much been bad dreams keeping me up," she ventured, without him having to press her. "It was one…severe nightmare, and I've been keeping myself up staving a recurrence off."

"Which one?" he asked. "Which nightmare?" he clarified, running his hand through her hair – there were several major ones that recurred, and he knew the gist of them all.

She shook her head.

"It was new. Different," she paused. "I don't…really want to discuss it."

"Okay," he agreed, kissing the crown of her head. "Well, I'll be here tonight."

She snuggled closer to him, her body radiating relief, and he smiled, switching his glass to the other hand and wrapping his arm around her tightly. Leia sighed and lifted her head, perching her chin on his shoulder, and he cleared his throat after a moment.

"You have a plan for when – if – your father walks in the door?" he asked mildly – because he wasn't sure what she wanted him to do, if she wanted him to do anything, and he'd feel like scum if he immediately started things off wrong.

Leia took a pointed sip of whine and chewed on her lip lightly.

"I didn't want to ambush either of you," she said slowly. "The reason I didn't…immediately tell him to stay away from my apartment is because I didn't want to set a precedent of banishing him when you're around, or vice versa," she explained.

She'd been reluctant to kick her father out despite knowing Han was returning because she felt it would only reinforce the mistaken idea that they couldn't, or shouldn't, be around each other – and even though, in many ways, Han took precedence over other people in Leia's life, she wanted Bail to know that continued progress in their father-daughter relationship was important to her.

"I also didn't think you'd want to sit right down and have dinner with him," she sighed. "I wasn't sure if he'd be here when you walked in, or if it would be like this, and I think he's got enough sense to, ah, graciously go back to the Embassy to sleep now that you're back."

Han nodded, and after a moment, he shrugged.

"Leia, I won't kick him out," he said grudgingly. "If you want to let him stay, he can."

She lifted her head and made a face.

"You'd let him stay even if it meant a night of keeping your hands to yourself? You really are trying."

"Hang on," Han said loudly. "What's that mean?"

"Well I – if my father is here, I am certainly not –"

"He's gonna be in a separate room!" Han protested.

Leia blushed.

"I still couldn't."

"A _separate_ room, Leia! Down the hall!"

"Han," she said, deadpan, "I could be sleeping in highest room in the tallest tower in Aldera and if my father was in the throne room on the ground floor I wouldn't touch you."

Han looked down at her with disbelief, and she tilted her head up, her expression brooking now argument.

"That's," he started, glaring at her indignantly. "That's… _ridiculous_ , Your Worship."

"I know," Leia agreed, sighing dramatically. She very much knew that logically, she was being extreme, but – "I can't help it, Han, the whole time I'd just be thinking ' _can he hear me_?'"

Han blinked at her a moment and then started laughing – loudly.

"Yeah, good point, they can probably hear you in the Outer Rim."

She jammed her elbow into his side neatly, careful not to spill her wine, and shushed him violently, her face flushing. Han continued to smirk, even as Leia leaned forward, set her glass aside, and settled back, resting her head on him again contently. He downed the rest of his wine, sat forward to set aside the glass, and leaned back, silent for a moment.

" _Has_ Luke been helping you sleep?" he asked after a moment.

Leia tensed a little, and then shrugged, shifting her head.

"A little," she confessed. "But I think it takes a lot of energy for him to do that, and I instinctively block him, so," she trailed off.

Han cleared his throat hesitantly, thinking of Luke's request – _maybe nudge her towards seeking that sort of help out_ –

"You could do it yourself, though, right?" he asked casually. "If you let him teach you."

Leia didn't say anything for a long time. Then:

"Maybe," she conceded, very soft, very cautious.

Her stomach twisted with nerves at the thought, and she shifted her head, giving herself a better angle to look at Han.

"How's Chewie?" she asked. "His mate and son? Tell me what you got up to, other than crowning yourself king of Alderaan."

Han rolled his eyes a little.

"Chewie's good, family's good – Malla was pissed I didn't bring you, but she sent gifts – more tea, some herbs and spices," he listed – the typical sort of thing Wookiees offered as symbols of peace and friendship.

"Did you bring me my jug of sand?" Leia asked primly.

"Nah, but I picked up a few other things for you."

"Like what?" she murmured.

"Trinkets," he said flippantly. "Knick-knacks."

Leia smiled and ran her hand over his thigh intimately. He leaned back, his head propped up on the back of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, and was satisfied for the moment with just sitting with her, and the relaxed feeling of being home. He thought about telling Leia to just go ahead and go to bed, get some sleep, and he'd play nice with the Viceroy if he showed up – but there was no need; the door chimed, and Leia, who had indeed been teetering on the edge of a much-needed nap, was suddenly sitting up, fully alert, when her father strolled in.

Han sat forward and felt military bearing creep into his posture automatically.

"Leia," the Viceroy began pleasantly, looking around, and then paused, immediately catching sight of Han sitting with her on the sofa.

Leia stood up, folding her arms loosely, and taking his cue from her, Han stood up as well.

Bail Organa stood still, his shoulders back properly, and his face an unreadable mask.

"I had no intention of interrupting," he said diplomatically. "I apologize if I – "

"No need, Father," Leia interrupted quietly. She inclined her head calmly. "It's alright."

Han held eye contact with Bail firmly, sizing him up for a moment – he felt a surge of residual resentment, thinking for a fleeting second that this man was the reason Leia seemed to have been dragged backwards in her healing process, but he quelled it – none of this was Bail's fault; any damage he had done had been unintentional.

Han grudgingly accepted, even, that he should be the one to make the first move: the Viceroy was Leia's father, and had once been in charge of his entire planet; he held the higher rank, and deserved a margin of deference. He took a step forward, but before he had even extended his hand, Bail had cleared his throat, taken his own step forward, and extended his.

"Welcome back, General Solo," he said cordially.

It was stiff, and formal, but it was nonthreatening, and it made it easy for Han to return the greeting, clasp his hand in a firm grip and shake it, the way he should have gotten to in their first meeting, had it gone differently.

"It's just Han," he said gruffly. "Sir," he added as an afterthought.

There was a look of shared determination that seemed to pass between the two men, and behind Han, Leia pressed her fingers to her forehead, and for the moment, breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

The Viceroy of Alderaan, being a man of at least slightly above average intelligence, was under no illusions; when both Luke Skywalker and Carlist Rieekan abruptly asked after his dinner plans, he knew exactly what was going on – and he returned their less-than-subtle inquiries with his own invitation. Thus, when they sat down for a meal with him and Rouge in the luxury suites at the Embassy, it was easy to call them both out.

"I see you both had the brilliant idea to casually lure me away from Princess Leia on this particular evening," he said blithely, passing a bottle of brandy around the table.

Luke paused with the bottle in his hand, immediately looking guilty.

"Well, no, I actually just – " he began, though Rieekan cleared his throat and nodded, grinning somewhat sheepishly.

"It was General Solo we were concerned about," he offered.

" _We_?" Luke protested, filling his glass and passing the bottle politely to Rouge – who declined in favor of something nonalcoholic, and directly transferred the brandy to Rieekan.

"It wasn't a coordinated effort," Rieekan corrected, "but a coincidence."

"You both independently thought it wise to distract me," Bail noted seriously. He waved his hand. "To preemptively deescalate anything that might…escalate."

Luke gave the Viceroy a withering look at the word choice, and shrugged guiltily. Rieekan shrugged more carelessly.

"Han checked back in with me and I thought it might be wise if the two of you didn't get a huge dose of each other right away, right at once," Rieekan said pleasantly.

"And I," Luke began grudgingly, "have known Han was coming back today…for a week."

Bail looked at them both with an unreadable expression for a moment and then lifted his glass, holding it out briefly to both of them with amusement.

"As it were, so have I," he said.

Rieekan smiled a bit, but Luke looked surprised. For some reason, he hadn't realized Leia had told her father specifically when Han was slated to return.

"Yes," Bail said dryly, noting Luke's expression. "We're on good enough terms that she thought it a common courtesy to tell me he'd be back sometime today."

"So, he is back?" Rouge ventured finally, having been listening to the conversation with a cautious sort of expression.

"He docked around midday," Rieekan supplied easily. "He had to report to me and secure everything, and then I know he usually takes a complicated route from his private hanger to the apartment so any press that try to follow him gets confused."

Rouge frowned deeply, and reached for a glass of water.

"The press try to follow him to his home?" she asked, disturbed – she knew, of course, how ruthless press could be in other parts of the galaxy, but on Alderaan such – brazen disrespect – would be unheard of.

"They think it will lead them to Princess Leia," Rieekan said.

"Well, it would, wouldn't it?" Bail said rhetorically. "Considering he lives with her."

Luke shared a wary glance with Rieekan, unsure if the comment was disapproving or grudging or inviting comment – and Rouge gave a small, discontented sniff, turning to the elegant pasta dish she had ordered from the kitchens. Bail looked between the two men breaking bread with him, and then smiled genuinely, sitting back against his chair with ease.

"The care both of you exhibit for my daughter is so appreciated," he said sincerely, honestly touched that both of them had thought it might be best for Leia – for Han and Bail, too, of course, but clearly, the root of the concern was Leia – if Bail was conveniently called away before the reunion could go south.

Luke smiled mildly.

"Han is really annoying when he's been away for a while," he revealed, snorting. "He came back from a campaign in the Mid-Rim once and acted like I had committed an unforgivable sin when I stopped him to ask how he was. I didn't even keep him for five minutes but Gods _forbid_ he talk to anyone before he gets his Leia fix."

Luke paused, his fork piercing his food, and blinked down at his plate for a moment.

"I think that may have sounded inappropriate," he said, half to himself. He winced. "I didn't mean to imply – "

"I think you ought to stop there, Master Skywalker," Rouge advised primly.

Luke followed her advice by shoveling a forkful of food into his mouth and looking up at Rieekan rather than Bail. Rieekan shook his head with a grin, amused, as always, by Luke's fascinating lack of conversational skill. He lifted his brandy and gestured at Luke with it.

"I thought along the same lines," he said, "figured it'd be best to intervene in case Solo came back unprepared for any formalities and – well, best leave your new start with him for a controlled setting, eh?"

Bail considered him a moment.

"Again, I appreciate your foresight – or rather, scheming," he said lightly, "but I've already run into General Solo," he revealed. He paused a beat. "He was home when I returned to ask Leia if you," he nodded at Luke, "wanted both of us for dinner, or just me."

Luke and Rieekan shared a glance, and then Rieekan cleared his throat, pressing his knuckles to his mouth for a moment.

"Well," he began dryly, "I see no one is in the hospital."

"Han might be," Luke remarked mildly. He nodded his head at the Viceroy. "Technically, we only have him accounted for."

"I'll have you remember I'm a non-violent man," Bail retorted seriously.

Rouge leaned back in her seat, holding up one hand.

"You've met with General Solo already, Bail?" she asked.

"I wouldn't call it a meeting," Bail said simply. "I interacted with him."

"How did that _go_?" Luke asked seriously, leaning forward curiously.

Bail tilted his head at Luke, a little amused, a little uncertain – what was the young man expecting, a rousing tale of a joust that would determine Leia's favor, something to that effect? His lips turned up slightly, and he shrugged.

"We shook hands," he said bluntly, "he called me _sir_."

Luke exchanged a look with Rieekan again, and Rieekan looked floored.

"I don't think Solo's ever called me sir," he remarked.

Rouge looked appalled.

"You're his commanding officer," she noted, scandalized.

Rieekan shrugged – that he was, but Han hadn't been military until the very last stretch of the Rebellion, and he'd never quite fit himself back into impeccable military behavior even after his commission. It drove General Dodonna up the wall and then some, which was why Rieekan tacitly encouraged it.

"He called Mon Mothma 'sir' once," Luke ventured solemnly. "It was a dare," he informed Rouge, when she gave him a withering, annoyed look. "Mon Mothma had no idea what to do about it."

Bail arched his brow, and Rieekan laughed shortly.

"That was a good one," he snorted. "Viceroy – if you'd – the only person who laughed was Princess Leia, and then she got absolutely furious at Han for making her laugh."

"She was angry at him for making her laugh?" Bail asked, taken aback - though, he did silently hope Leia had hastily apologized to Mon Mothma, because he liked to think he raised her with a little more tact than that.

Luke snorted, grinning wildly suddenly.

"That was always the funniest thing," he said smugly. "Leia was always furious at Han, but she was most furious when he was making her laugh."

Bail tilted his head curiously, reflecting on that. He was about to remark upon it when Rouge ventured –

"Well, of course she was," she said quietly, her tone unexpectedly matter-of-fact, "it's incredibly difficult to feel happy when you've lost everything – and there's guilt that comes with any flicker of joy."

Rieekan set his jaw a moment, and nodded, inclining his head at Rouge respectfully.

"The lady speaks the truth," he agreed, "and I do think," he added, just in case Bail didn't like the information, "that was very much the root of the issue."

"It's a terrible burden, to feel undeserving of happiness," Bail said quietly, eyes on his sister for a moment – she smiled faintly at him, and fell silent; he sensed she was glad of the company, but bewildered by the familiar, tight-knit way Luke and Rieekan discussed Leia; Rouge just wasn't used to a world where Leia was _one of the guys_ – or one of the…anyone, really.

"So after this, monumental hand-shaking, and Han calling someone 'sir' for the first time in his cursed life," Rieekan said wryly, "what happened?"

Bail shrugged.

"I sat down to speak with Leia about a few things, and he went and unpacked his bag," the Viceroy said, thinking back on the short, but not altogether unpleasant, time he'd spent with his daughter before taking his leave to have a separate dinner.

"Extremely anticlimactic," Luke assessed flatly. He turned to his plate with renewed interest – but he was glad there was nothing dramatic to report. He'd personally been a little concerned that Han would find any immediate exposure to the Viceroy unpalatable, as he'd have little chance to prepare and he'd be more interested in seeing Leia and only Leia, but he seemed to have behaved himself appropriately.

"You know," Bail ventured mildly, "what's most interesting was Leia's behavior," he said, and he sounded faintly amused. "I don't remember her ever being so – I suppose tongue-tied is an adequate way to describe it, though she wasn't stumbling over her words," he mused, "she acted like a bomb was going to go off any moment. It was endearing."

"Well, I'm sure Han being polite flustered her completely," Luke snorted.

Bail smiled a little – truth be told, he hadn't interacted much with Han Solo at all. The man really had removed himself shortly after the Viceroy had come in, and their conversation had been limited to Bail asking generically after his trip, and Han answering with very little exposition on any of it – though he had half-muttered an apology about the photo from Mos Eisley that had mostly consisted of Lando Calrissian being thrown under the landspeeder.

Leia's behavior had mutated from reticent and defensive to more – cautious and apprehensive, though it no longer stemmed from what had been a clear reluctance to discuss her private life. She seemed more focused now on rectifying the problems Han and Bail had encountered, and engendering a positive relationship in the future, which was having the amusing effect of making her slightly nervous and almost refreshingly like the teenage girl he remembered who used to get into trouble with confidence, and then lose that confidence ounce by ounce when she stood in his office, busted, and awaiting parental retribution.

Bail's personal favorite part of the evening had been General Solo emerging from the back of the apartment, shirtless, to get something from the kitchen, and Leia fixing him with a glare so coldly reprimanding that he'd immediately left and come back with a shirt _and_ a jacket on.

Now that she had her father's word that he'd actively get used to Han and make an effort, she seemed to retreat completely from throwing him in his face.

"Chewbacca arrived with some offerings for Leia from his mate and I left soon after that," Bail said pleasantly.

"Will you be returning later?" Rouge asked warily.

Bail shook his head.

"No, I think not," he said. He leaned forward and looked between Rieekan and Luke wryly. "Being somewhat decent, it did occur to me to leave them alone even before your dinner invitations," he said, with a resigned little smile. "I know she's missed him. I also happen to have a rather innate sense of tact."

"Bail," Rouge remarked abruptly, clearly forgetting herself for a moment – "You left them alone? You must know what they could be doing!"

Luke looked directly down at his plate – he didn't even dare look at Rieekan, in that moment, though he sensed an overwhelming wave of sudden mortification emanating from Rouge. Bail was silent for a moment, and then he sighed heavily.

"Well," he said bluntly, "given that I was married for thirty years, I have a general idea," he said, his tone flat – and a little tinged with the pain of speaking in the past tense about his marriage. "I'm just not entirely sure why you felt then need to bring it up," he added, fixing a reprimanding look on his sister.

Rouge winced, leaning forward and rubbing her forehead. She put her elbows on the table – a significant lapse of etiquette, for her – and massaged her temples, taking a deep breath.

"I'm just," she began. "Yes, I forget – they live together, she's – she's grown," she murmured. She shook head. "She still seems so young," Rouge sighed softly. "She was such a sweet girl."

"Rouge," snapped Bail, his expression darkening quickly. "There's nothing wrong with Leia, and I certainly hope you haven't implied anything of the sort to her. Furthermore, you can't possibly be of the opinion that because she's," he hesitated, tripping over dinner-appropriate wording, "in a mature relationship, that she's – "

"No," Rouge snapped, holding her hand out. She rubbed her temple sharply with the other, frustrated. "No, I don't – Leia's – she's clearly got it together, it's enviable how impervious she is to all of this," she said, teeth gritted. "I'm trying to get used to this, and I'm not – Bail, I haven't even interacted with this man as much as you have, and it's very difficult to get past this instinct I have that Leia needs our protection and guidance – I know on a logical level that she's an adult with responsibilities and a life but I can't," Rouge pushed her knuckles together, staring at them, "connect it emotionally. I keep having knee-jerk reactions. I can't just become a different person automatically."

Bail hesitated briefly.

"Rouge, Leia was of age even before all of this," he said. "She was of age when she was elected and sent to Coruscant."

" _Of age_ does not mean automatic adult maturity and you know it," Rouge fired back. "She was impetuous and strong-willed and her wisdom was still maturing and I'm still stuck in that mindset," Rouge said in a rush. "The mindset of worrying about when her next stubborn move was going to show her exactly why discretion is always better than defiance. When something like Giles Durane was going to happen, but it was going to be worse. Leia _still_ had growing up to do – "

"She grew up, Rouge," Bail said flatly, his face haggard suddenly. "She was forced to grow up. The Empire obliterated the girl you're talking about. She grew up," he repeated, "and if that's what you wanted for her – you have it."

His sister looked at him sharply, and pursed her lips.

"I never wanted anything bad to happen to that darling girl," she said hoarsely, "and don't you ever sit there and imply that I did."

There was a heavy silence that fell in the wake of her words, and Luke sat back, contemplating his options for a moment. He looked at Rieekan, and the General grimaced a little, looking over first at Rouge, and then at the Viceroy. After another moment of uncertainty, Luke took the initiative of reaching out and placing his hand lightly and respectfully on Rouge's shoulder, and gently feeling out her presence in the Force.

She took a deep breath, and sat back, and Bail cleared his throat.

"I know you would never wish Leia any harm," he said, backing down with grace.

"Bail, I," began Rouge, her voice catching. She closed her eyes, and took a shaky breath. "I am trying to illustrate that…it's difficult to have an appropriate reaction to anything in this reality. I don't know what an appropriate action is. I only know what I'd say to her on Alderaan – what Celly," she paused painfully, "and Tia – would say to her on Alderaan, when she was a teenager. It's easier to cling to the way things were – and every time I hear or see her doing something that seems…contrary to her Alderaanian heritage, I'm desperate to protect tradition," she said, her lashes flicking nervously, "even if they're silly traditions."

"Our traditions weren't silly," Rieekan said solemnly – respectfully. "I can't speak for all surviving Alderaanians, by any means, but I've never felt Princess Leia was abandoning them. We've all just been trying to survive. Sometimes we ache for the way things were, and we hold fast to the traditions. Sometimes…we just have to close our eyes to them, or try to distance ourselves completely."

"She cut her hair," Rouge said, her voice breaking. "When she would do that, when she was little – well, she was a child, but now it's – it's a statement, but I don't know what she's saying. She cut her hair, and she's going to marry that man – "

"No one is talking about marriage right now," Bail interrupted shortly.

" _Bail_ ," Rouge said, look at him skeptically, her eyes red. She said his name almost as if she thought him ridiculous, and she tilted her head.

Bail looked momentarily put out, as if the concept of matrimony made things entirely different. He was unsure why he felt that way, though - Leia had assured him she was perfectly serious about Han. He frowned – to himself, at himself, and his sister kept her eyes on him, searching his expression. Luke, glancing at Bail for a moment, cleared his throat softly, and offered his own opinion –

"I know you've been told about the circumstances of Leia's - and my own – birth and adoption," he said kindly. "You must know that – she doesn't want to hurt you. She doesn't want to forget Alderaan. But she feels like an imposter," he said earnestly. "She's this venerated Alderaanian figure, and she's been the symbol of perseverance and hope for the diaspora, and if that's not enough weight on her shoulders, Darth Vader was integral in the destruction of Alderaan. And he's her father."

" _He's_ her father," Rouge said, nodding firmly at Bail.

"Yes," Luke agreed hastily. "I only meant – I'm sorry. I wasn't adopted. I was fostered. My experience was different," he said respectfully – and pressed his hand more heavily into Rouge's shoulder. "Leia's angry," he said simply. "She's heartbroken. She's unnerved," he listed, "but she loves you. And she loves her people. I think she's just…maybe part of her thinks that eventually, they'll find out about her origins, and they won't love her back. And if they've already turned against her prior to that, it won't hurt as much."

Luke had wondered, once or twice, if Leia had seemed increasingly distanced from her adherence to Alderaanian tradition – her white, her hairstyles, even her diplomacy – because it might sour Alderaanians' opinion of her a bit, so it was less of a blow if they ever found out where she came from.

"Then again," Rieekan ventured. "There's little Leia can do to harm Alderaanians' opinion of her," he said, matter-of-fact. "We're a progressive people – an accepting, open-minded people. And I think," he added thoughtfully, "that some things she does that are contrary to tradition are more acceptable now than they would be if we still had Alderaan." He paused. "You see, all of us – the survivors – know what it's like to question our place, and who we are. Do we ingratiate ourselves into new cultures, new homes? Do we isolate ourselves so totally, even go so far as to forbid marrying outside our ethnicity, in order to preserve what's left of us and our culture, that we wither away and die, monolithic and outdated?"

Rouge lifted her chin, tears swimming in her eyes, but impeccably withheld. She licked her lips, and then turned her head towards Luke.

"What did you do?" she asked, pleasantly, softly. "I feel at ease. I feel…peaceful."

Luke smiled, and removed his hand.

"It's a manipulation of the Force," he said. "I latched on to the feelings of love that flared in your cells when you talked about Leia, and about Alderaan," he explained, "and I amplified them. Good memories can counteract despair."

Rouge breathed out slowly, her heart falling into a soothed rhythm, and she smiled at Luke.

"And – if I understand what I've been told correctly," she ventured. "Leia has this power, too?" She paused for a beat, and then looked around. "I want to be part of this reality," she said, her voice hitching only slightly. "It's just going to take – "

"Time," Rieekan supplied, with a tone of agreement. He hesitated. "I had my moments, too," he confessed openly. He glanced between the Organas, and smiled wryly. "I was the one who agreed to let Leia stay on in the ranks," he said calmly, "even when it meant counteracting Mon Mothma's order for her to go underground. I gave her a rank and duties, because she demanded it but – Sith, imagine suddenly having to give a member of your ruling family orders," he said, his eyes widening. "I'd been calling this woman _'Your Highness'_ since before she could _walk_."

Rieekan paused, and smiled a little.

"Difficult as it may be to believe now, since I've been so firmly supportive of General Solo," he revealed slowly, "there were times, initially, when I was outraged at the way he talked to her." Rieekan leaned forward, picking up his brandy. "However, she never sounded any alarms about him," he noted fairly, "and I thought, from a military standpoint, it would be bad for her credibility as a leader if I was always seen to be fighting her battles, or if she was seen as clearly superior to everyone, despite her military rank."

He shrugged.

"In the time I spent biting my tongue and scowling, Solo turned out to be a damn good asset, and it started to be abundantly clear – unmistakable even – that he cared about her." Rieekan tilted his glass towards Rouge thoughtfully. "My point, Lady Rouge," he said intently, "is that it seems impossible, but you can adjust. You will. You'll get used to it. You'll love the person Princess Leia is now as much as you love the niece you remember," he said. He smirked a little. "You may even come to like General Solo."

Rouge smiled a little wryly, a little skeptically.

"I'm afraid I've displayed a – vulgar amount of emotion," she said properly.

Luke smiled at her – it seemed a very characteristic thing for her to say. She sighed, and touched her palms to her cheeks gently, patting them a moment, and sat back, looking around the table.

"I'm a relic," she remarked introspectively. "I may have been the least uptight of your sisters, Bail, but I'm still a prudish old lady," she stated simply. "Leia's always been as fierce as a hurricane. She had something none of us – Celly, Tia, or myself – ever understood. If she is Padmé Naberrie's, then I can finally see what it is. That isn't to say she isn't Breha's – but Padmé Naberrie was terrifying. She terrified the Empire – and so did Leia. Leia's become something altogether indescribable," Rouge said, "and I do mean that in the best of ways."

Bail put his hands together and rested his chin on them, smiling sadly – Leia was, as he had said before, a child of two worlds; born at the death of the Old Republic, coming of age under the Empire, orchestrating the new world order – she had lived simultaneously as a rebel and a royal, and she had all the admirable qualities, both innate and learned, of four different parents.

"Oh," Rouge sighed, her breath rushing out painfully, as if she was suddenly exhausted. She shook her head and sighed, touching her temple. "If she just had – a little more of Breha's quiet, graceful subtlety."

It was said partly in jest, and partly with wistful sincerity – Breha Organa had always been the pinnacle of aristocratic perfection to Rouge; kind against all odds, beautiful, fair, extremely circumspect and private while somehow also warm and welcoming to her people – and Rouge missed her as much as anyone and Rouge, like her sisters, had come to quip over the years that they perhaps loved Breha more than their own brother.

"Breha loved Leia's fire," Bail said simply.

"Breha loved everyone," Rouge returned, touching her lips, remembering fondly.

"Yes," Bail agreed thickly, hiding his face for a moment in a long draught of brandy – discussing his late wife was still infinitely painful. He wondered – he thought, perhaps, that if Breha had come with him, if she had survived with him, there would have been no roughness to his reintroduction to Leia, because Breha smoothed edges wherever she went.

There was, again, a heavy silence over the table, and Luke turned to his plate, feeling a little subdued by the pervasive sadness, but a little heartened – Leia would benefit from her aunt opening up, and Luke himself was interested in the reverent way Rouge spoke of –

"If I may – shift the subject a little," Luke began slowly, turning his head. "You – knew my mother?"

Rouge put her hands over her nose for a moment, composing herself, and then cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

"I knew of her," she said thoughtfully. "I met her personally only once – she attended a ball honoring Breha's coronation anniversary, during the Clone Wars," she said.

"What did you think of her?" Luke asked gently.

Rouge considered him for a moment. She smiled slightly.

"Frankly, I thought she was quite a shock," she said. "She showed up to the event in a skin-tight black outfit and Anakin Skywalker's Jedi cloak," Rouge remembered. "And my brother issued a specific dispensation that allowed her to keep her weapons on her," Rouge shot Rieekan a look to underscore the significance of that, "in _Aldera_."

"Ah," Bail said, face lighting up. "That was after the Battle at Ryloth," he explained, turning to Luke. "She had no time to change. Breha was just thrilled she could make it," he added.

"She fought in the wars?" Luke asked, leaning forward on his elbow. "I thought – "

"She was a Senator," Bail said, nodding. "She just seemed to always turn up where a fight broke out," he added. He paused. "She was a surprisingly good shot, for a woman who valued violence only as a last resort," he said. "I saw her shoot a thermal detonator out of someone's hand from thirty standard measurements."

Luke stared at him, and Rieekan grinned, amused at the look on the kid's face.

"She was very loud," Rouge stated. "Politically, I mean. In the Senate." Rouge hesitated a moment, and then cleared her throat very primly. "As it were, my sisters and I were of the mistaken impression that Bail was responsible for her mysterious pregnancy. Thus we could often be…unfairly derisive of her."

Luke's lips turned up a little. He turned to Bail.

"She wore my father's cloak?"

Bail's smile faded a little – not as nostalgic and fond, but more sad.

"I had forgotten she use to do that," he said. "Yes. She turned up in it frequently."

"Seems," Rieekan began diplomatically, "to lack subtlety." He arched a brow. "You know, if one is hiding a forbidden union."

Bail blinked, and frowned a little.

"Those two periodically forgot the definition of subtlety," he remarked dryly. "Anakin was worse – though looking back, I sometimes think the genius in Padmé's ruse was rooted in how publicly friendly she was with Master Skywalker," he mused.

"How—" began Rouge.

"Because," Bail said. "Padmé was known to be incredibly shrewd and calculating; smart as hell," he said, "even from the age of fourteen. Everyone would have expected her to be impeccable at hiding an affair, too smart to flaunt it or be cavalier," he explained, "so her closeness with Anakin might have been the very reason he was never suspected of being involved with her."

"Ah," Rieekan said thoughtfully. "They'd have immediately discounted him because she was openly seen with him."

"Exactly," Bail said.

"Clever," Rouge remarked. "So," she sighed, eyes wide, "does that mean Han Solo is a smokescreen for some vagrant Leia's really involved with?"

Her joke provoked laughter – much needed laughter, and Rouge smiled in a bit of relief, her shoulders relaxing, as if some weight was removed.

"Rouge, can you imagine someone worse?" Rieekan teased gruffly – she did seem to have a pretty appalled opinion of Han.

"I suppose not," the woman retorted.

"Lando," Luke said seriously. "Lando is worse."

Again - laughter, though neither Rouge nor Bail were closely acquainted with the man in question.

"She seems," Luke said proudly. "Like a remarkable woman."

"She was," Bail agreed immediately. "I can see her in both you and Leia," he said pleasantly. "You – you have your father's eyes, but you're very much like Padmé – you both have a particular impenetrability when it comes to negative influence," he assessed. "You're," Bail paused, and smiled wryly, "I hope this doesn't offend you: you have the same sense of being wholesome, despite everything, that she had."

Luke smiled – he wasn't offended at all; it was more or less along the same line of what Leia often accused him of: being too optimistic, too wholly willing to look for good and forgiveness.

"What about my father?" Luke ventured. "Am I like him?"

Bail hesitated for a significant amount of time.

"Strangely," he said finally, "I see more of him in Leia."

Luke drew back, falling silent.

"Don't ever say that to her," he warned immediately, after letting the words settle. "Bail, you can't ever say that to her."

Rieekan looked down at his food grimly.

"It would break her heart," Luke said emphatically.

Bail held up his hand, nodding hastily.

"Yes – of course, Luke," he said, as if it were obvious. "I have no intention – she's not a fascist or a murderer," he said. "It's a similarity in…sheer will."

Luke looked wary.

"She's not ready to hear that," he said flatly.

"I agree," Bail returned, though he considered Luke intently. "But she will need to hear it, eventually. Or she won't be able to combat it. You've said it yourself – she's very powerful."

Luke tilted his head, his expression faraway for a moment.

"She is powerful," he agreed quietly, "but she's not at risk of consumption by the Dark Side," he said, smiling a little. "The Dark Side is about raw, animal power, and her disdain for brute power is beautiful."

Rieekan picked up his glass.

"Good to hear," he said dryly, which lightened the atmosphere slightly.

Luke leaned forward, settling into his niche as he talked about the Force.

"Leia's brand of power fascinates me – I always thought of the Force as manifesting the same way, constantly – but I think my power is strongest in the physical realm," he said. "I can fight, I can subdue," he listed. "I have to concentrate to channel it emotionally," he gestured to Rouge, "like when I offered you peace. And I can – create illusions and sense tangible threats, but Leia – her power is interpersonal, it's almost effortless. I think she could heal people – but she's too," Luke waved his hands a moment. "She's not healed," he finished quietly. "I think her power, and my power - I think one complements the other."

He paused a moment, and then looked up at Bail.

"When she was growing up – was there anything you thought was – enhanced about her? You already told me about her reflexes but was there anything more subtle?"

Bail thought about it.

"Languages," he said finally. "She's got an uncanny ability to pick up languages. She can – or, as far as I know from when she was nineteen – speak eight languages fluently, and she can understand at least fifteen."

Luke stared at him.

"She – _what_?" he hissed. "She did pick up Shriywook fast," he muttered, and then looked up, brow furrowed. "What does she…?"

"Basic, Alderaanian, Chandrilan, Stewjonian, Corellian – " Bail started.

Luke held up his hand, suddenly gleeful.

"Leia speaks Corellian?" he asked.

Bail blinked, but it was Rouge who answered.

"Of course she does," she said. "Corellia was a major galactic player – and she worked with Garm Bel-Iblis frequently at the outset of the Rebellion."

Luke forced himself not to leap out of his seat with excitement. Rieekan, having realized what the amusement was about, sat back, rubbing his jaw.

"Would you care to - ?" began Bail, caught off guard.

Luke leaned forward, savoring the moment.

"Han _doesn't_ know she speaks Corellian," he said, on the verge of laughter.

Bail stared at him, and Luke did laugh a little.

"I mean, he might know she understands the gist of his swearing, or she gets bits and pieces, but I definitely don't think he knows she's _fluent,_ " he choked.

Bail looked startled.

"Why in the stars wouldn't she tell him?" he asked – and Luke found his affront unexpected.

"She'd think it was funny," Rieekan offered flippantly. "I'd bet she's waiting for the perfect moment to say something back to him in Corellian."

"Yeah," Luke agreed, snickering, "he's going to think he won an argument one day and she's just going to single-handedly drag the hell out of him."

Bail shared dubious look with his sister – he started to think it sounded quite underhanded, but then he realized – he'd intended on keeping his own proficiency in Shriywook a secret, until General Solo had figured it out immediately, and so the Viceroy smiled. He liked the idea of his daughter pulling one over on General Solo – though he was sure she'd done it plenty of times before.

Luke sat up straight suddenly, grinning, holding up his hands.

"Things are going to be fine," he said brightly, nodding affirmatively. To himself, he thought – at any rate, Leia would probably sleep well tonight, so in turn, Luke would sleep well.

Rieekan folded his arms, amused, and considered look thoughtfully.

"You have doubts, Carlist?" Luke challenged. "Everyone seems to be, moving forward."

"Sure, sure," Rieekan drawled. He smirked, and lifted his shoulders wryly. "It's all fun and games while Han Solo's throwing the word 'sir' around."

Luke inclined his head, eyebrows raised, conceding that point.

"I'll remain cautiously optimistic," Luke said.

"I'll withhold judgment until Han starts acting like Han again," Rieekan retorted seriously.

Bail, who was fairly certain he'd already experienced the full brunt of Han being Han, so to speak, merely sat back silently, and resigned himself to the good-natured teasing of those at his dinner table.

* * *

It didn't take long for Han to discover Leia's shorter hair reached unprecedented levels of attractive when he got her completely naked. He wasn't sure he'd ever realized how much her hair had obscured her skin until it was no longer there to act as a demure little shield. There was a fresh allure to the look that kept his energy high and his hands roaming long after he was usually content to fall asleep.

Leia, meanwhile, was engaged in a silent tussle with him that involved trying to wrap sheets around her and place kisses on his shoulder while also fending off his uncharacteristic post-coital heavy petting.

She resisted for a third time his attempt to nudge her head up and kiss her, and smiled, snuggling closer and making it harder for him to move his hand while covertly creeping the silk sheets over their legs. He immediately kicked them back down and slid his hand through her hair again, predictably coming to the edges, where his fingers broke free of the tresses and brushed teasingly over her breast.

" _Han_ ," she protested, biting back laughter. She twisted away a little, and he wrapped his arm around her, preventing her retreat. He moved his hand over her back firmly, a silent reprimand to stay put, and then – _again_ – rain his hand through her hair until he pointedly came to the trimmed edges and brushed his fingers over her breast.

She kicked him lightly, giving into muffled laughter this time.

"Han, that _tickles_ ," she murmured, biting back an undignified squeal when he did it again. "You get your dirty hands off me, Captain," she sighed dramatically.

His hand moved to her ribs and applied a strategic flutter near her ribs, and she twisted onto her back, angling her body away from the hand, choking back helpless laughter. He smirked, triumphant to have her face exposed, and leaned over to press his lips to hers in a languid, satisfying kiss. He slid one hand under her head, into her hair loosely, and the other down to her thigh, pulling her leg against his.

He pulled back a fraction, and flashed her a charming grin.

"I can't help it, Sweetheart," he drawled. He lowered his lips to throat. "I've usually got to go hunting for this much skin."

She laughed again and slid her fingers into his hair, pushing him to the side a little and pressing her body into his, catching his eyes – she figured the new hairstyle did afford him a much better view, as it tended to fall neatly behind her shoulders when she was on her back, or on her side, whereas her long, unruly locks used to tumble over her shoulders and spill everywhere, coyly hiding everything – and getting caught under hands and elbows and sometimes resulting in quick, painful pauses in the heat of the moment.

There was a new sense of exposed intimacy with him, somehow, and she was comforted by it, attuned to it.

Han pressed his nose against her neck for a moment, and then moved his lips over her shoulder. She felt his teeth against her skin, followed by his tongue, and twitched her arm at him.

"No," she murmured, "too visible."

He obediently shifted, and moved back up to kiss her lips again. She pulled him closer, and his hand ran over her hip, sliding between her legs. She sighed, pushing her forehead against his, and closed her eyes – he'd been gone longer stretches of time during the Reconstruction and hadn't come back this desperate for her – was it really just the hair - ?

"Han," she gasped, grabbing his arm tightly – she squeezed, digging her arm into the muscle, and breathed out slowly, curling her toes.

"Easy, Princess, I'm just getting started," he said.

"Mmm," she moaned softly. "If this is just getting started, what the hell have we been doing?"

He drew his hand up from between her thighs lightly and splayed his hand over her stomach, tickling her ribs. She laughed, twisting to try and escape again, only to have him grab her and pull her back tightly.

"Hey, I have a lot to make up for," he growled in her ear. He kissed her pointedly; she slid her hand over his chest, down to his navel, taking her time tracing patters over his muscles, feeling his skin tense with anticipation.

"Not to knock your manhood," she murmured, "but I think you're going to need a minute."

Han shrugged, only sparing her a half-hearted masculine glare – he'd be more offended by the dig at his prowess if they hadn't already done this twice.

"That's what my mouth is for," he retorted, reaching up to run his hand through her hair again, down her spine, her lower back, between her legs – and she embraced the shivers that shot up her spine, and the rush that ran through her blood to her head, but she reached for his hand and stopped him, shifting onto her side for a moment, her eyes on his.

" _I_ need a minute," she said softly.

He propped his head up on his free hand, his other still lazily resting where she'd stopped it, and looked at her critically for a moment, trying to decipher if he'd been too rough with her. She looked content, though, and her face was bright, and flushed with sincerity and affection, and he figured she was just tired.

She smiled at the nod he gave her, and turned onto her stomach, aligning the side of her body with his and pulling his arm under her. She laced her fingers into his, clutching it between her chest and the mattress, and he settled down next to her, dropping a kiss to the back of her head. She sighed, satisfied, and when he shifted closer, she could feel his heartbeat as it gradually slowed to a normal rhythm.

It wasn't that she was opposed to continued physical activity, but she did want a moment to just lay with him – when he was gone, she missed that as much as anything else. She wanted a moment to close her eyes, and know he was there, and know that if she happened to fall asleep and wake up disturbed, he'd still be right there. She wanted to bask in his presence – and bask she did, until he gently extricated his arm and started to get up.

She hooked her foot over his ankle immediately.

"Where are you going?" she mumbled into the pillows, opening one eye. She put her hand on his chest possessively.

He grinned and ran his hand over her fingers, leaning down to kiss her brow.

"'M getting your things," he said.

"What _things_?" she asked, rising up a little as he escaped from her loose ankle-trap and stood up, leaving her alone in the tangled sheets. Her eyes roamed over him as he went to the closet, availing herself of a lovely view of his bare skin.

"Your things," he retorted, his voice muffled as he stepped half in the closet and drew out the rucksack Sorna had given him. "Things I got you while you were conditioning the Viceroy to me."

Leia laughed quietly, putting her head on her palm as he came back over.

"Conditioning," she quoted – as if he were a lab rat. She watched Han move closer, and lifted one hand lazily, pointing vaguely to the floor. "Hand me a shirt?"

"No."

"Han."

He dropped the rucksack on the bed and sat down, leaning towards her.

"And let you cover up?"

She pursed her lips fetchingly.

"I'm cold," she protested sweetly – she briefly missed how heavy and warm her longer hair had been.

Han flicked his eyes down slowly, reached up to flip her hair over her shoulder, and decided she wasn't lying. He got up to acquiesce, and she reached for the sheets, pulling them towards her haphazardly, and the rucksack with them. He dropped his shirt in her lap, and she slid it on, snuggling into it – the V-neck plunged to the stomach on her, and one side fell off her shoulder.

Han nodded approvingly – he'd always been of the opinion that Leia in nothing but one of his shirts was almost as satisfying as Leia completely naked.

"Hmm," Leia murmured dramatically, sitting up. She clutched her hands together near her lips, eyes on the little bag. "What have you brought me, scoundrel?"

Han smirked a little, and got back into bed, nudging her over. He stood the pillows up behind them and picked up the bag, placing it in the small space between them. Leaning against the headboard, he ran his hand over his jaw, and Leia turned towards him, the sheets tangling around her legs as she crossed them, and faced him.

"Tokens to win my favor?" Leia asked, affecting an aristocratic accent.

Han snorted.

"Somethin' like that," he answered under his breath.

He hesitated, one hand at the opening of the rucksack, and frowned a little. Leia tilted her head at him – he wasn't sure what to start with. He was smart enough not to thrust anything Darth Vader or Anakin Skywalker related into her lap without warning her, but he didn't know how she was going to react to hearing about the heirlooms – or relics, whatever they should be defined as – and if it was bad, he'd rather save the good things for after.

He'd considered just leaving the things he'd uncovered on Tatooine hidden until it had been a while, and she might be more receptive, but then he ran the risk of having to explain why he'd acquired them only to hide them. He didn't want to face possible fall out if she ended up being angry that things had been kept from her in her own home – and he sure as hell didn't want her accidentally stumbling onto them.

"Han?" Leia ventured after a moment, her voice soft.

He glanced up at her, and caught her eye.

She raised her eyebrow a little, her expression curious.

"I was kidding," she teased, deadpan, "you already have my favor."

The jest relaxed him a little, and he smirked again, running his hand over his forehead. He looked down at the bag a moment longer, and then he cleared his throat, lowering his arm from his face, holding his palm up in a placating gesture.

"I don't know how you're going to react to this," he said bluntly. "I don't want you to scare you."

Leia's stomach lurched, and her mind went blank for a moment – what could possibly provoke him to say something like that? She parted her lips silently, and the colour must have drained from her face, because Han grimaced, already wary, and went on –

"Easy, Sweetheart," he soothed cautiously. He continued before she could imagine any terrible scenarios. "Look, when I was on Tatooine – after your message about Vader and his background, I did some digging," he said. "Started with that farm Luke grew up on."

Her mouth felt dry, and she stared at him, unblinking, for a moment. She wasn't – angry, so to speak, it just hadn't yet occurred to her that there was anyone on Tatooine who would have information or connections or –

"And?" she asked – for lack of anything else to stay.

"Gavin Darklighter's parents own the farm now," Han said warily. "Luke left everything to his aunt's sister – "

"Beru," Leia supplied. "Her name was Beru."

Han nodded.

"Beru's sister. She cleaned out some stuff," Han said. "Some of it was Shmi Skywalker's."

Leia compressed her lips and swallowed hard – Shmi Skywalker; Anakin Skywalker's mother – Darth Vader's mother – _her grandmother_.

Han watched her uncertainly; Leia reached up to run her hand through her hair, tightening and loosening her fingers in it a moment, and then resting her hand in her lap. She nodded, as if to tell Han he could go on.

"I think she figured Luke had already passed over it," Han muttered, "so she gave it to this woman, Sorna, who was a slave with Shmi in Mos Espa. Dama Whitsun – that's Beru's sister – put me in contact with her."

Leia leaned forward slightly, her eyes on the bag, and then sat back, pressing her palm against her knee for a moment.

"Sorna," she repeated finally. "Did she," Leia started, faltering. She met Han's eyes. "Did she know who you were?"

Han nodded, his brow furrowing – it wasn't the question he'd expected.

"She knew you were looking," Leia paused, taking a deep breath. "Han, you went looking for information on Anakin Skywalker – and its public knowledge that Luke and I are siblings," she said hoarsely. "If this woman knew what happened to Vader – Ana – "

Han shook his head.

"She didn't," he said flatly. "I asked her. Acted like I didn't know. She said he died in the Clone Wars."

Leia's heart throbbed painfully, and she felt out of breath for a moment – she swallowed hard again, and looked up at the ceiling.

"From what I got, Luke's aunt and uncle didn't say he was Anakin's son. Mos Eisley side of Tatooine had barely heard of 'im. He and Shmi were slaves in Mos Espa. Beru and Owen claimed they named him Skywalker after Shmi."

Leia made a noise of disbelief – what a shallow ruse. It seemed so transparent, so easy to figure out – and Luke in the middle of it, really only superficially hidden, graced with his father's Jedi name while Ben Kenobi bided his time. In all this time when Leia had questioned if her destiny had been laid out for her, she had never realized how rigidly Luke had been intended for the task of facing his father. She wondered if he thought of it that way – if he had the same qualms with Obi-Wan that she'd had with the ghost of Bail Organa.

She wasn't sure how she felt about Han connecting them to Anakin Skywalker – even inadvertently. The Larses had chosen to deny Luke's parentage, or at least refuse to confirm it, and the public statement Leia had issued about Luke's blood affinity to her had just been an honest note that, during an emergency blood transfusion during the Battle of Endor, it had been discovered that they were siblings.

"You okay?" Han ventured.

Leia ran her hand over her knee, and drew one leg up, peering at him with a guarded expression.

She stared at the bag for a long time, and then took a deep breath.

"What's in that bag?" she asked.

He could hear the trepidation in her voice, and he knew that she was at a complete loss concerning what to expect – hell, she'd probably handle it better if he had Vader's skull, rather than old possessions that belonged to boy Anakin's mother. Han pulled out the archaic, browbeaten datapad first, and handed it to her. She took it, and propped it against her knee, her lips pressed together tightly – thoughtfully. She looked at him without a word, waiting, and he cleared his throat.

"Sorna said that's Shmi's journal," he said gruffly. He paused, and then laughed a little dryly. "She said it was boring. Moisture farmer's wife," he paused, "she also said it glitches pretty bad."

Leia looked over it again, at the blank, dusty screen – there were two cracks in it – her fingertips brushing against it.

"Did you read it?" she asked quietly.

"No," Han answered. "Didn't know if you'd want me to."

Leia smiled at him over the holopad, over her knee. She didn't think she'd have minded if he had, but then, she didn't know what was in it. Holding it in her hands felt surreal – having a tangible connection not only to relatives she had yet to come to terms with, but to an entire unknown viewpoint of the Old Republic, was daunting – she wasn't even sure she wanted to read it.

She took a deep breath, and nodded at the bag.

"What else?" she asked calmly.

Han twisted his fingers in the rough, tanned hide string of the amulet, pulling it out and showing it to her. She held out one hand, taking it in her palm. It was wooden, decorated with chipped, fading silver and red paint, crudely but attentively carved – a child's effort in making jewelry.

"Hers?" Leia asked faintly. "Shmi's?"

Han nodded, and she looked at him sharply when she sensed his hesitation.

"Sorna said…Vader made it for her."

Leia bit the inside of her lip, her jaw tightening. She imagined black gloved hands, a black mask bent over this tiny trinket – but it was incongruous, and so then she cautiously imagined a child's hands, any generic child, putting so much care and focus into this – and she felt, for a moment, an earnestness that didn't belong to her; she felt like sand was brushing over her fingers in a hot breeze.

She twitched her wrist as if brushing the sand away and swallowed, pushing the amulet back into Han's hand tensely.

"Anakin made it," she said unexpectedly, her fingers curling around his and squeezing as he took it back hastily.

He paused, looking at her warily – since when had she started—

"I mean," Leia said, closing her eyes, pulling her hand back. "I don't know."

Her knuckles were white as she pulled the datapad against her chest lightly, lifting her head.

"Is there anything else?" she asked, and Han recognized a steeled bravery in her voice that often crept in when she was bracing herself.

His hand paused in putting the amulet back.

"Yeah, there's one more thing," he said finally.

She blinked at him, unable to decipher his tone right away.

"Well, what is it?" she asked, slightly agitated suddenly. "Is it a lock of _hair_?" she hissed.

Han shifted slightly, and her eyes widened.

"Han," she began, horrified.

"No, it's not his hair," he said hastily, shaking his head. He almost laughed – the idea was so…macabre, in some way. He set his jaw, deciding on being blunt about it. "It's a holograph," he said shortly. "Of him, when he was a kid."

Leia's nails clicked against the back of the datapad, and she gave him a pale, silent look. She felt uneasy in her chest, in the pit of her stomach – Luke talking about the person Vader used to be was irritating enough, it got under her skin, it provoked her anger, but seeing him? Not just the man behind the mask – the beaten, battered, and scarred man Luke said he had become, under all that armor – but the boy who possibly hadn't even known the havoc he would one day wreak.

She hit her teeth together gently, clenching them.

"I take it from your expression that he does not have horns," she said in a clipped tone.

Han's lip turned up a little, grimly. Leia's face didn't change.

"Is he by any chance extremely ugly?" she asked crisply.

Han snorted derisively.

"Would that help?"

Leia shrugged tightly. Han waited, and Leia looked at him without focusing on him, wrestling with her thoughts – did she want to see it? Would it do her harm, or good, tonight? Would it assuage her inner demons, or invigorate them? Her nightmares told her she was already violently confused and uncertain about the specter of Vader, who he was to her, who he had been, who Luke wanted him to be.

"You don't have to look at it Leia," Han said finally, his expression serious.

"I think I do," she responded softly, almost too quickly, "but not tonight."

Han nodded, and she let out a breath, shaking her head, her jaw unclenching.

"I want to sleep tonight," she confessed, pleading with – she wasn't sure; her conscious, the universe, the Force – "I want to sleep, and I just want to…wake up next to you, and poke you until you finally go make me breakfast, and not think about this for a few hours," she handed him the datapad, her hand shaking, "any of it."

Han took it, and her eyes followed his movements as he put the things away, hiding them in the darkness of the rucksack – and she imagined it was swallowing the relics for a while, burying them somewhere even her psyche couldn't remember them.

Han took his hand out of the bag for a moment, and frowned tensely, looking up at her slowly after a moment.

"You mind if I give this stuff to Luke?" he asked warily. Before she could even answer, though, he had reached over and fumbled for her hand, taking it tightly. "Leia," he said, his voice uncertain, apprehensive, "you know I don't think you have to deal with the – Vader stuff," he said, sounding rougher than he meant to. "'M not trying to throw this in your face," he stopped.

How was he supposed to explain that he just didn't know what to do? He didn't know how to help, and he'd been out on his own, in purgatory, wondering how things were going with her father, wondering if there was ever any way she'd be able to confront this –

"I know," Leia said, her eyes on him intently – her words succinct.

She leaned forward, shifting onto her knees, reaching for his face. She took his jaw in her hands lightly, hesitating, running her tongue along her lip before she spoke, haltingly –

"I have more progress to make with this," she said softly. "Luke deserves these things, even if I can't face them right this moment," she finished firmly.

Han nodded, and Leia shifted again, stretching out beside him, fluffing the pillows. She ran her hand from his jaw to his neck, sighing tiredly. She closed her eyes a moment, and then opened them, navigating away from conversations that bordered on dark and unsavory, and bringing both of her hands towards her, clasping them, and resting her head on them.

"Is that all that's in the bag for me?" she asked intuitively – glancing at him through her lashes – he had a mysterious stop on Corellia to explain, after all.

Han looked at her intently for a moment, and then gave her a mock scowl.

"Greedy little thing," he accused.

She clicked her teeth together sweetly. Han shifted and plunged his hand into the back, pulling out a sort of thin, carved wooden box and handing it to her with an air of nonchalance. Leia sat up again, one of her knees pressing lightly against his abdomen as she crossed her legs again, and ran her hand over it – smooth, sanded, and adorned only with a sturdy leather latch that held it closed.

"What is this?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"No idea," Han retorted deadpan, shrugging.

Leia shot him a look, and unhooked the leather latch, lifting the box open curiously. She lifted her brows, a smile pulling at her lips the moment she saw floral flashes of colour bursting out from a circlet made of forest green vine.

She pushed her hair back lightly, remaining quiet, simply looking at the flower crown.

"Han," she murmured softly. "I was joking."

Han put his head on his hand, watching her.

"No, you weren't," he corrected bluntly – Chewie had known she wasn't really kidding, and deep down, Han had known it too, even if he'd carried on and blustered about it.

Leia flushed a little, and lowered her hand to the circlet admiringly – it had some sort of barely discernable, opalescent coating on it; a preservative, she supposed. She just wondered – her brow furrowed –

"Where did you get the arallutes?" she asked quietly. "The only ones are in the greenhouse."

Han shrugged casually.

"I got back earlier than I said," he revealed. "Rieekan got me access."

Leia's fingertips delicately brushed the arrangement – arallutes, sasaleas, commelinas, and inisas. The arrangement in the crown wasn't professional, but clearly focused on the flowers she had specific appreciation for, and somehow, even though the violet of the arallutes was overwhelming, the snow white, pink-gold, and faded green of the others worked well.

She lifted it out of its box, held it to her nose, and inhaled deeply, looking at him almost shyly over it.

"You made this?" she asked indulgently, only a little bit smug.

Han rolled his eyes and waved his hand – which also allowed him to show her about ten tiny slashes he'd gotten from cutting the vines' protective thorns off. Leia placed the crown lightly on her head and caught his hand, pulling it towards her, feathering kisses on the cuts.

She said nothing else about him crafting it – she just silently appreciated it, until he cleared his throat and raised his brow.

"You're supposed to wear that at your wedding," he advised her sternly. "Take it off."

"Well," Leia said lightly, removing the crown delicately. "I suppose we'll have to do that soon," she sighed, placing it back in its box, "have a wedding."

Han grunted thoughtfully, arching a brow at her.

Leia shot him a look, catching her tongue between her teeth.

"If you are still interested," she teased softly.

Han pulled his hand out of the bag for the last time, running his thumb over a jewelry box with black silk material covering it. He tossed it to her, setting both the rucksack and the wooden box aside a little more.

"I'll make an honest woman out of you," he agreed blithely.

Leia turned the box around in her hands, smirking. She bit her lip for a moment, and held it up, her eyes glittering.

"I _knew_ you would do this," she accused, a slight blush tingeing her cheeks. "I knew – you'd need to stake your claim," she went on, looking down to open the box, her fingers moving nimbly – she felt a little more giddy than she'd expected to, considering he'd already asked. "You think you're so – " she started – and then fell silent.

She quieted immediately, caught off guard, because she wasn't looking at a ring.

She put her hand to her chest, tilting her head as she looked closer, intrigued, examining the jewelry. She could see a fine silvery chain plunging into the black velvet, so she discerned that it was a necklace – but the pendent – it seemed like diamond, but it didn't seem like diamond. She had seen her fair share of diamonds over the course of her aristocratic life, and this was something altogether unique – it looked like the sort of tiny, iridescent ice crystals snowflakes were made of –

"Shimmerglass," she said aloud, recognition striking her abruptly – gems native to Corellia, and frightfully expensive.

This Shimmerglass wasn't in the usual pear or flashy oval shape, it was glass-blown into something she recognized, and tinged with some sort of dye that made it seem as if it were diamond, but hinted at purple and yellow in the right light – purple petals, with subtle yellow flecks.

"This is a Molushka," she said hoarsely, touching the edge of a fragile petal with reverence – she hadn't seen a real one in years, they were all gone, but this was what they had looked like; this was one of them, preserved in gemstone, constructed as a pendent.

She couldn't take her eyes away for a moment, and when she finally did, Han was looking at her with an expression that was – smug, so entirely smug, and she couldn't even bring herself to take him down a peg, because this was something to be smug about.

"I loved these," she said nostalgically. "This is so – it's so lifelike, Han, I can almost," she trailed off – she could almost smell it, but the scent was only a memory.

She slid her nail under the chain carefully, and shimmied the necklace out of its cozy little box, holding it against her palm, holding it up. It was just – breathtakingly gorgeous, and she regretted ever thinking Han was predictable, because he wasn't – he was always doing something that caught her attention, and he'd be turning her head for the rest of her life.

She held it in one hand, away from her a little, reverent, and leaned over to touch his jaw and kiss him, capturing the smirk on his lips. She pulled away a fraction of an inch, and drew her hand closer, looking from him to the necklace – it had to have been Chewie who mentioned the Molushkas, but it wasn't just that, it was –

"Leia?" Han asked, noticing the intent expression that came over her face, the slightly curious, nervous furrow of her brow.

She sat up a little, swallowing hard, and caught his eye.

"I'm okay, it's," she started. She took a deep breath. "On Alderaan, there are – we use necklaces," she managed, her voice wavering a little. "The jewelry makers are all dead, but this…it reminds me of them," she said. "I always used to admire my mother's."

Han was silent a beat, and then he grinned.

"Yeah," he drawled. "I heard."

Leia turned a startled look on him – strange as a coincidence as it would be if he'd decided to give her a necklace instead of a ring – when she knew Corellians used rings – she couldn't think of how –

"I did my research," he informed her seriously – he decided not to out Dansra as his source, in case he needed her again.

Leia stared at him, the full weight of the realization hitting her: this wasn't a coincidence, he had _known_. He knew this was Alderaanian tradition, and while she stared at him, trying to wrap her head around just how much that meant to her, he cleared his throat, and gestured at the pendent.

"I couldn't find a way to get an authentic one, with the traditional clasp," he said gruffly, "Shimmerglass, though," he said, "it's indestructible."

He'd chosen it because if he couldn't get the fused, knotted clasp, he could get her a gem that wasn't going to break – that was part of the allure and expense of the Corellian jewel, it resisted being dropped, burned, stepped on – all while looking as breakable as glass.

Leia pulled her hand towards her chest and held the pendent there, leaning forward to kiss him. She uncurled her legs and moved closer to him, close to tears, her hand shaking just barely as she slid it into his hair. She pressed her forehead against him tightly.

"Han," she said faintly. "I love you."

He moved his head and kissed her shoulder.

"I know," he mumbled, and he sounded proud of himself.

She held on to him for another moment, attuned to the cool feel of the Shimmerglass pressing against her chest, and then she pulled back, blinking her eyes until they were dry, and compressing her lips to compose herself – gently situating the necklace back in its case. She brushed her hand under her eye lightly, and then presented it to him, breathing in slowly.

"You put it on at the wedding," she advised him.

He nodded – he vaguely remembered Dansra telling him that, and he was tempted to ask when that was going to be, because he wanted to see it around her neck every day, but he held off. He hadn't even been back a full day, he'd barely had more than a superficial, though extremely polite and uneventful, interaction with the Viceroy – and this was enough for now.

She had colour in her cheeks, and she looked at ease, and that was more than he could say considering how he'd left her when he headed for Tatooine.

Unable to resist, she turned to the jewelry box again, opening it and admiring the flower pendant – she had expected a ring, but there was a relief that he had gone to these lengths, because rings were not something she had ever grown accustomed to wearing, and she'd been raised to expect a necklace one day.

She focused on it until her eyes started to sting again, and then she looked up – up at the canopy of the bed, feeling a sense of calm, and an underlying sense of vindication – Han, unknowingly, had probably just ensured he would be able to find favor in her father's eyes, because this tiny endeavor in understanding her lost world underscored everything she'd told Bail concerning his worth, and his respect for her.

Leia turned to say something to him, and stopped short, her hand flying to her mouth to hold back the laughter that threatened to escape – somehow, in her silence, in the quiet reflection her reverie, he'd – he, who had been energized earlier – had fallen asleep.

 _Hyperspace,_ she thought fondly to herself, mucked up _circadian rhythms._

She bit her lip, swallowing her amusement – and slight disbelief – and moved carefully, taking things and placing them neatly back into his bag. She placed it on a night table and got up to turn off the light, footsteps light and quiet on the carpet - and before she got back into bed, she paused, glancing over, thinking of Shmi Skywalker's diary sitting there next to her bed, of the amulet carved by the young Vader.

She caught her breath, and fought off a shiver, and crawled over Han with every intent of waking him, her hands moving over his stomach and chest, up to his shoulders, until her knees were planted on either side of his hips and she was fully on top of him, her face hovering over his. He opened his eyes.

"It's dark," he stated.

"You fell asleep."

"I wasn't asleep," he countered immediately, blinking alertly.

His hands went to her hips automatically, pushing up the shirt she had on. She lowered her mouth to his, starting with a teasing kiss.

"It's been a minute," she murmured.

"More than a minute," he agreed huskily – he pushed her hips down against him to prove his point, and Leia pressed kisses to his jaw.

"Han?" she asked, lips near his ear. "I need a good night's sleep. I want you to wear me out."

Han reached down, swept one of her legs off of him, and turned onto his side, pulling her under him, and she thought, as his lips moved to her throat, and then lower, hand skimming her sides promisingly, it may not turn out to be a good night's sleep – but it was a good night's something else.

* * *

 _:)_

 _-alexandra_


	25. Twenty Four

_a/n: More than halfway finished, y'all ..._

* * *

 _ **Twenty-Four**_

* * *

Leia had spent the morning in grueling cease fire negotiations concerning the last truly fanged pocket of Imperial influence in the Western Reaches. Crix Madine had them almost on their knees, and as Ambassador at Large, Leia had stepped in to try and broker a treaty. The frustrating thing was, the Imperials seemed to think they should be granted total immunity if they surrendered – Leia was only willing to confer immunity on those Stormtroopers who were confirmed clones, and on soldiers with ranks lower than corporal.

She argued her position because clones had difficulty thinking beyond their conditioning and programming, and soldiers of extremely low rank were often conscripts, or fighting due to stressors applied to their families. Her father's lessons, and enlightened ideology, held that good military commanders always put their soldiers first – Imperial military ideology held that victory was paramount, period.

Thus, after a stall in her negotiations with the Moff commanding the remnants of a fleet, Leia authorized one of Madine's aides to leak a transcript of the conversation to the public, ensuring Imperial foot soldiers would hear of it – if their leader couldn't be persuaded by the peace offering New Republic, perhaps his men would mutiny when they heard he had rejected a pardon on their behalf.

They had to know – they had to – that the Empire was in ashes now, that the New Republic couldn't be dislodged by the disjointed and squabbling remnants of what was once a great, intimidating kingdom – and if they could choke out the remaining threats in the Reaches and the Outer Rim within the year, the Interim government could end, debates on a permanent, not just an emergency, constitution would begin, and victory would be not only solidified, but irreversible.

Considering the intense exertion of the morning, Leia chose to retreat to her office at the Alderaanian Embassy for the afternoon – an easy enough escape, as her main event after lunch had been a council meeting, at which Rouge's gala and Kell Tainer's possible re-settlement location were discussed.

Her father had left the meeting immediately for a conference with Mon Mothma, and Rouge was still downstairs – no doubt still talking Winter's ear off, while Winter pleasantly and indulgently listened, and assisted.

Leia left her office door partially open, in case she was needed, but she wasn't at her desk; she'd opened the doors to the balcony and taken up residence on the couch. In fact, she had laid down to read over the latest missive concerning the trade treaty between the Nemoidians and the Naboo – and had fallen asleep lightly.

Lightly enough to get rest, but not deeply enough to actually sleep and risk waking up indecorously where someone might see her.

Her eyes blinked up lazily when she heard a noise at the door – it sounded like a knock, then shuffling, and then –

"Princess?"

Rieekan's voice, uncertain.

She lifted her head a little and turned to look at him, her eyes appearing over the edge of the couch. He was peering around, consternated, and then he saw her, and took a step back.

"I _thought_ you were in here," he stated, looking more confident. She sat up a little more, swinging her feet off the couch, and straightened her shoulders. "Forgive me – "

"The door was open, Carlist, it's alright," Leia said simply. "I heard you knock."

He still seemed mollified.

"Were you asleep?" he asked.

She smiled a little – he didn't sound accusatory; he didn't sound affronted that she'd do something so unprofessional, the shock in his voice was present because it seemed a very vulnerable thing to do, and he'd never quite confronted vulnerability in her, even if he knew it was there, just under the surface.

Leia put her hand on her shoulder, rubbing stiff muscles gently. She gestured to an armchair across from the sofa warmly.

"Not really," she said honestly. "Sit down."

He took her invitation, but as he was sitting – and leaning forward, and resting his military cover on a circular table in front of him – he cleared his throat.

"Don't let me interrupt if you're busy," he said.

"I'm hardly busy," she said smartly, "or I wouldn't have laid my head down."

He arched a brow at her, and corrected his comment:

"What I meant was, if you need a nap, feel free to kick me out," he said seriously. "I'll even guard the door."

Amused, she laughed a little, leaning back on the sofa. She adjusted one of the cushions and relaxed a little.

"I would think commandeering one of the highest ranking members of our military to make sure no one catches me sleeping is an abuse of power."

Rieekan inclined his head a little, smirking. She rested her hands in her lap, biting the inside of her lip a little to wake herself up. She hadn't intended to fall asleep, but she'd found that often, when she was having trouble sleeping at night, short, stolen naps recharged her without visiting nightmares on her. It was a convenient trick.

Leia sighed.

"What can I help you with?" she asked matter-of-factly. She tilted her head, her face unreadable. "Are you here to warn me you're deploying Han?" she asked grimly – it seemed like something Carlist would do; warn her first.

Rieekan shook his head.

"No," he said quickly. "Nothing of the sort – actually, I'm," he paused, seeming uncertain, "well, this is a personal visit."

"Oh," Leia said, mildly taken aback. She felt a flicker of worry for him – she wasn't in charge of the military, so there wasn't anything regarding that he'd come to her for, but if he needed something for the Alderaanians, or if something was wrong with him -

"I'm aware I may be overstepping my bounds," Rieekan said firmly, "but I thought I'd – I wanted to see how you're doing," he said.

Leia tilted her head at him, and swallowed hard. She sat forward for a moment, and then got up without a word and went to shut her office door, effectively signaling her unavailability for a while. She rested her hand on the door a moment, and then turned around and returned to her place. This time, when she sat down, she drew her legs up on the sofa with her, and leaned against the armrest with a much more at ease posture.

"Carlist, you know about Vader," she said simply. "There are very few bounds left for you to overstep."

He nodded shortly, and she found his open concern touching, and comforting.

"Well, then," he said gruffly. "How are you doing?" he asked.

She smiled.

"You're asking about Han, and Father?" she asked rhetorically. She shot him a wry glance. "If you should continue…intervening?"

Rieekan glanced down at his knees for a moment, and looked up, wincing.

"The Viceroy told you?" he asked grudgingly.

"Luke told me," Leia corrected. "He told me you had the same idea – quite covert," she said with mock solemnity.

Rieekan sighed, and shrugged. He sat back, stretching his hands out on the armrest.

"I figured it couldn't hurt," he said. "The last time I spoke to your father about Han, he wasn't that thrilled with it – and then there was that photo in the Cantina," he listed. He shook his head, and shrugged again.

"At the very least, Han was delighted," Leia said, propping her elbow on the armrest and resting her head in her palm. "He was behaving himself, though," she said honestly. "They both were."

"Are they still?" Rieekan ventured.

Leia sighed. She turned her face into her hand and rubbed her temples – yes, technically the answer was _yes_. In the several days Han had been back, there had been no dramatic confrontations, no shouting matches – there was only the absurd sort of tension that manifested when people were being entirely too cordial with each other.

Though in Bail's case it was cordial, and in Han's case it was either casually disappearing when Bail was around, or saying very little unless directly spoken to – and that was unnerving to Leia. She appreciated him not unleashing the full brunt of his overwhelming personality, but she didn't like him acting neutered, either.

She peeked at Carlist.

"It's very awkward," she confessed finally.

She turned her head, and rested it on her palm again, frowning thoughtfully. Han and her father were segregating themselves, perhaps purposely, perhaps unconsciously, so even though there was no outright battle going on, Leia still felt a sense of fear that her relationships with both of them would never be fully integrated into one life.

Rieekan tilted his head.

"Is there anything I can do?" he offered.

Leia arched a brow at him.

"Take them out for drinks and get them drunk together?" she suggested dryly.

Rieekan laughed, leaning forward. He placed his elbows on his knees and rubbed his jaw, palm running over the week-old beard on his chin he hadn't bothered to shave lately.

"Interesting strategy," he said seriously, feigning a strict military analysis, "could be problematic – speaking in relative terms, I am concerned the Viceroy might be unconscious by the time Solo is merely buzzed."

Leia snapped her fingers and pointed at Rieekan, accusatory.

"You've gone drinking with Han," she stated confidently, giving him a knowing look – Han had tried to tell her several times that Rieekan had his fair share of nights out while on liberty during the rebellion, but she flat out had not believed him – Carlist had always seemed too focused.

Rieekan gave her a poker face, and she narrowed her eyes.

"I take it he drank you under the table?" she asked dryly. She shook her head, a little amused, thinking of Han's rather frighteningly impressive ability to handle liquor. "You have a point – I can't even tell when Han's drunk, most of the time."

"Most of the time?" Rieekan quoted.

Leia considered him a moment, and then – she decided Han could use a little teasing, so –

"He's not good with wine," she revealed succinctly.

Rieekan looked ready to run out the door and immediately start berating Han for being a lightweight when it came to a brand of alcohol that generally came from distilled fruits, but he restrained himself, and just looked thoughtful.

"Then I'll ply the Viceroy with whiskey, and Han with wine."

Leia smiled demurely.

"Something tells me Father might hold his own better than you think," she murmured – Bail was certainly no prohibitionist when it came to alcohol, and though his position and his responsibilities had kept him from carousing the same way that Han had, Leia knew there had been a time in his life when alcohol had been much too close of a friend.

Her father, of course, had never mentioned that to her, but Aunt Celly had, when she caught Leia and Winter sneaking Arallute gin from the cellars and hysterically accused them of being out of control denizens on the primrose path to ruin.

Leia smiled to herself, and lowered her head for a moment.

"It's just an adjustment," she spoke up, spreading out her hand and examining it as she spoke. "Father is more understanding, but he doesn't understand Han," she murmured – and she didn't mean he didn't understand why Leia cared for Han, because she'd already gone over that.

Viceroy Organa point-blank did not understand Han's guarded, suspicious, and unforthcoming nature – he was, Leia sensed, baffled that Han didn't want to talk about himself, or talk about Leia, or give any insight into his personal life or his feelings.

"And Han?" Rieekan asked mildly.

Leia spread out her hands, exasperated, as if to say – _you've met Han._ She got the impression Han felt most of the problem was with his lowborn background, less than savory work history, and questionable relationship with the law, and he was never going to be able to erase any of that past or change his lack of aristocratic blood.

"They're just from different worlds," Leia muttered. She waved one hand lightly. "It'll take time, I suppose," she said. "One day perhaps they'll – I don't know. Watch sports together."

Rieekan gave her a bemused look, and she shrugged, flushing.

"I – well, whatever men do together," she said, compressing her lips flippantly – there was a huge difference between what a smuggler and a prince consort did in his free time, anyway. She brushed her lips with her fingers, and glanced towards the balcony. "Or, perhaps they won't," she said dully.

Rieekan cleared his throat, interlocking his fingers and looking down at them a moment.

"It's not altogether unnatural, you know," he offered sagely. She looked at him patiently, and he went on. "There's a whole new dimension of stuff going on here that's causing issues with the Viceroy and Han – and it's status issues, and old norms, as well as general – coping problems," he said, "but all that aside, he's your father, and Han's your," Rieekan broke off suddenly. "I'm – what do you call him?" he asked, suddenly confounded.

Leia tilted her head back to hide her grin – hadn't she asked herself the same thing, when talking to her father? Boyfriend, fiancé, lover – She tilted her head back and shrugged, giving Rieekan a demure look.

"I call him Han," she quipped.

"Right," muttered Rieekan, preemptively grimacing at the words about to come out of his mouth: "He's your…Han," he said, and Leia fought back laughter, "and this sort of…tension between a girl's father and her suitor is ancient. It's sort of a galaxy wide narrative."

Leia considered that – he had a point, certainly; Leia felt she had appropriately assuaged her father's pressing concerns, but that didn't erase the fact that she was Bail Organa's little girl, and she was all grown up, and he'd been there for none of it – he was just slapped in the face with it.

"Let me tell you," Rieekan said seriously, "when I was dating Morrie," he went on, referring to his late wife, "I couldn't do a damn thing to please her father, and I was a decorated Lieutenant in the Alderaanian Palace Guard," he revealed. To emphasize his point, he continued: "He once told me I was disrespecting her by bringing her flowers that weren't fresh enough."

Leia grinned, sitting forward a little.

"You married her," she said, "so, he must have come around."

"He did," Rieekan allowed, frowning, reflecting: "Still always called me Carly, though. Even after the boys were born. I think Whick thought that was my real name."

Whick had been Rieekan's youngest son, only seven when Alderaan was destroyed. Leia noticed the tired pain in his eyes when he spoke of his family, and she empathized with it – but now, she felt momentarily guilty, because some of hers was back, and his –

"How's your brother, Carlist?" she asked gently.

Rieekan's lips turned up grimly, and he shook his head.

"He's not good," he answered bluntly.

Leia nodded sadly.

"Neither is Rouge," she offered. "She wants to go home so badly," she sighed. "Every day it sinks in a little more that she can't, and I think that makes it worse, hour by hour."

Rieekan nodded.

"For Stavnist the survivor's guilt is hardest," he said gruffly. "Worse for them, I think, since they were all even closer to the – Disaster – than we were. Stav's husband was going to accompany the Viceroy, but Stav asked him to stay, thought the mission was too dangerous for both," Rieekan said heavily. "Now he's beating himself up for that."

Leia leaned back tiredly – there were so many different kinds of suffering that came from it all, and each person seemed to latch on to a different kind.

"Will he be able to survive?" Leia asked Carlist quietly.

"Hard to tell," the general answered – to date, they hadn't lost a single one of the flagship Alderaanians to suicide, but it hadn't been that long.

"He's getting adequate help?"

Rieekan shrugged gloomily.

"It's hard to get him to consistently go to therapy," he muttered.

Leia ran a hand over her face.

"It's difficult to know how to support them," she said edgily. "I can't even describe how I was able to keep going." She looked at him intently. "How did we go on, Carlist? Do you remember?"

"No," he said. "I don't understand it. The war, maybe," he said heavily. "There was the war – now there's building this. There was revenge. We found new places."

"And they only have their old lives," Leia murmured.

He nodded tightly – it was a blur, coping with the loss of an entire world. He watched Leia bow her head, thinking about it, and wondered if she knew that for a lot of people, she had been the reason they went on. They saw her still standing, still fighting, still leading, and they clung to that beacon of hope _– if she can do it, we can._

Leia sensed him staring at her intently and smiled a little, questioning it – but he said nothing else, so she looked over to the window again – the Embassy was in a much more secluded area of Coruscant, as far as secluded could be on the city planet. There was less traffic outside, more nature – artificial though it was.

"As it stands," she said, sighing matter-of-factly, "they're sitting down to dinner tonight."

"Han and your father," Rieekan clarified.

Leia nodded, and slowly turned her head back to him.

"Han, Father," she narrowed her eyes warily, "Rouge, Winter," she listed. "Chewbacca."

"I guess the Life Debt might come in handy, with a gathering like that," Rieekan snorted.

Leia smiled wryly.

"Chewie offered to cook," she revealed. "For which I'm grateful – Han's a good cook, but Chewie," she raised her eyes heavenward, as if thanking the Gods.

"Luke?" Rieekan asked, tilting his head.

Leia shook her head.

"I invited him, but he's on duty," she paused. "I thought it should be only Han and Father, but Luke mentioned that Aunt Rouge isn't being exposed to him enough, and that's a problem," she murmured, "and then Winter – well, we'll see," Leia said, rubbing her forehead again. "We'll see how it goes."

She resisted an urge to yawn, and held it back successfully – there could be chaos this evening, or more of that stiff, clinical politesse and awkwardness. She couldn't really decide if the stiffness was a safe place to be right now, or if she'd prefer Han and her father, while keeping general respect in mind, would act more like themselves and sort of – bristle at each other.

After all, even down the road, if they grew to like each other immensely, they wouldn't get along all the time.

Leia didn't even get along with Han _all_ the time.

Rieekan sat back a little, looking at her thoughtfully.

"Princess, I think his main concern – what he conveyed to me – was a perception that Han was – or – is a predator – "

"I've spoken to him about that," Leia said, a little sharply. "He understands – he at least said he understands – that Han's not that kind of threat. He knows I wasn't taken in with tricks or manipulation."

"I'm sure it sounded much more convincing coming from you than me," Rieekan said, relieved to hear it – his own opinions on that front had seemed to go only partly into Bail's head, back before Han left, and things were so, so messy. "Then, Your Highness, I think the final hurdle is just him getting used to Han in general."

Leia looked at him blankly for a moment, and then she shook her head.

"No, that's just going to occur gradually," she said flatly. "The final hurdle is that my father will want to hear Han talk about me like I talked about him."

Rieekan hesitated at the look on her face.

"I take it you don't think Solo's going to pour his heart out."

"There's no chance in hell," Leia said.

She didn't necessarily mind, either – Han had extreme difficulty with emotional vulnerability, which was something she understood and related to. The way he was with her was entirely different from the way he was with other people which was why he got such a reputation as a loose cannon womanizer with little regard for manners, the rule of law, and morality in general.

Of course- - Han did have little regard for manners and the rule of law, but he had a strong Corellian code that was symbolized by his two sets of bloodstripes, and she'd never actually seen him treat a woman disrespectfully.

Although on some more puritanical planets, what he did to her in bed last night was considered disrespectful.

Rieekan took a deep breath, oblivious to the path her thoughts had taken.

"Actions speak louder than words, Princess," he said. "Han's speak pretty loudly, even when he sticks his foot in his mouth."

Leia smiled a little.

"Here's to hoping," she said, feigning lifting a glass. "You see, if my father ends up accepting Han and giving him his full blessing, Dodonna might calm himself down," she finished, somewhat caustically.

Rieekan laughed heartily, shaking his head at the thought of the scandalized old general.

"Mon Mothma, too," he offered.

Leia shrugged – she felt she'd made her peace with Mon Mothma on the subject. Even if the Chief of State was not wholly convinced Han was a good match, she'd heard Leia's argument, and she hadn't written it off, and that was enough for Leia to put aside any catty feelings she had towards the older woman.

Regardless, with Bail Organa actually alive and speaking for himself now, none of the former Alliance high command would feel the need to _look after her_ and _comment on her love life_ as if they were channeling her father's wishes.

Rieekan beamed, and sat forward.

"There was one other thing, and it's strange that I started hearing whispers about it as Rouge is getting more organized about this gala," he began.

Leia looked weary immediately at the mention of it.

"It's not going to be a single gala – despite the paltry amount of Alderaanian refugees in the galaxy, we can't host them all at once," she said.

The celebration was shaping up to be more like a week-long festival – much needed, probably, and a genuine, fierce celebration of Alderaanians and their lost culture, but it meant a lot of very ceremonial work for Leia, and she was, she realized with some consternation, rather out of practice in that respect.

"The award ceremony is going to be on the final night," Rieekan said, a little smugly.

Leia rolled her eyes.

"I saw the final list, Princess," he said, verging on teasing her. "I heard the Viceroy specifically overruled the decree we gave about not giving Han awards."

"To be fair," Leia said diplomatically, "he did volunteer to go, and he and his crew do deserve awards – as do Luke, and Dodonna, and Dodonna's commanding officers." She paused, and then went on frankly, and indelicately: "but it almost feels like Father is promoting Han to prove how generous he can be. It seems like a power play. Or ass-kissing," she said bluntly.

"He's being conciliatory," Rieekan said mildly.

Leia smiled wryly – she still felt a little like her father's insistence on a grand award ceremony for the cohort that had rescued him was specifically to exhibit a sense of _– look, Leia, look how accommodating I'm being –_ and she wished he would focus that energy more internally. She was even slightly wary Han might think it was condescending – but the gala was not imminent, and perhaps by the time it was upon them, the rough edges around everything would be smoother.

"What was it you were hearing whispers about?" Leia asked, steering them away from more talk about Han, more talk about her father.

"Ah," Rieekan said, his expression brightening. "I spend a lot of my off-duty time collecting our artifacts and goods, if I can find them," he said.

Leia nodded – it wasn't an uncommon practice for many Alderaanians.

"It seems I may have discovered someone who knows where the crown jewels ended up," he revealed proudly.

Leia pursed her lips, taken aback. She tilted her head, leaning forward a bit.

"They were obliterated, Carlist," she said. "They were in Aldera."

"Not all of them," he corrected. "There were plenty kept here, at the Embassy, for state events – stolen when it was ransacked after your capture, sold and distributed by the Empire."

Leia fell silent, looking at him curiously.

"There were several sets of necklaces and earrings at this residence," Rieekan continued. "And I know for a fact that Queen Breha's coronation circlet was here, because you wore it during your Senate confirmation."

Leia's eyes widened slightly, the memory striking her clearly – it wasn't the crown they'd placed on her mother's head, because that was absolutely kept in the vaults at the Palace of Antibes, but her circlet, the white-gold, delicate thing with fragile diamonds and pearls laced through it – it had been passed through the Antilles family for centuries.

Rieekan grinned at the look on her face.

"There are quite a few Organa pieces, as well," he said. "I've been tracking them – and many of them, I think we can get back."

She was speechless for a moment, and then she put her hand to her mouth, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Carlist," she said softly, "I never thought – you just assume that everything is gone," she noted. "The planet is gone, and that's such a monumental hit…you just automatically assume everything is gone. Every time I get a glimpse of something real – or I hold an Arallute in my hand, or see an artifact that someone has salvaged off-world – it's haunting."

She swallowed hard.

"I always considered the jewels a hassle. When I had to wear them, or display them, but now," she paused, hoping desperately that she didn't sound vain. "I want anything that I can have back."

Rieekan nodded, understanding completely.

"I can't use the military for expeditions like this, so I was going to reach out to Han and ask him if he can put me in touch with any of his more trustworthy smuggle contacts," he said.

"None of them are trustworthy," Leia said with a laugh, "but their moral code solidifies as payment increases," she noted wryly.

Rieekan beamed at her again – he'd been sure she'd be heartened to know there were things still to be salvaged, even amidst everything that would never exist again.

"I thought," Rieekan said, "that if we could reclaim the jewels – at least some of them – by the gala, it could be another statement of hope. Of…not giving up."

Leia nodded, sitting forward and clasping her hands together.

"You can't imagine what it would mean to Father to have something of my mother's in his hands again," she said softly.

Rieekan reached out to put one of his hands over hers, meeting her gaze seriously.

"Yes, I can," he assured her – and she smiled shakily, feeling foolish or a moment; of _course_ he could understand. He, because he was Alderaanian, could understand so completely, that she opened her mouth to take back her words, and he waved his hand, nodding with understanding.

The general stood up, sweeping his cover off the table.

"I'll keep you in the loop on the artifacts," he said, tucking the cover under his arm. He paused, and then smiled wryly. "Best of luck with dinner tonight."

She smiled faintly, and shot him a look, nodding her head towards the door with a mock glare on her face, as if she were kicking him out. He gave a small salute, and strolled over, opening the office door, and exiting – for a moment, and then he poked his head back in.

"Would you like me to shut this, Princess?" he asked seriously. "You could get back to that pressing nap you were taking."

Leia gave him a mildly startled look, because despite how familiar he'd just been, she was caught off guard that Carlist had relinquished enough ceremony to tease her like that – but she was hardly offended; she just raised a brow, and waved her hand regally – and on her cue, he did shut the door, leaving her alone in the office.

She watched the door for a moment, and then turned her head, grinning. She was no longer in the right frame of mind for a nap, and as she reflected on Rieekan's concern, and their easy rapport, she was struck with a throb of guilt over it.

She realized – she was as at ease with Carlist as she used to be with her father. For a moment, she felt like she was betraying Bail, and the dichotomy between the then and the now was illustrated starkly – it didn't matter that she'd taken strides forward with her father, and communication channels were open, she was still not fully at ease with him.

And – it had everything to do with the fact that no matter what happened, and no matter how they healed, Viceroy Organa was simply never going to have the shared experience of the past five years that was necessary to relate to her.

It didn't mean she would never be comfortable with him, it just meant there was a small part of their bond that would be forever fractured.

* * *

Unless something unexpected came up, Han was consistently off duty before Leia had a chance to think about ending her day, though usually he spent those few hours winding down on the _Falcon_ or roaming around with Luke and other off-duty members of the Rogue Squadron.

This particular day, however, he'd only spent a marginal amount of time on the _Falcon_ before dragging himself up to the apartment to generally get things in order, as her father was joining them for dinner. Chewbacca was cooking, but Han had been charged with making the place look presentable – though he wasn't really sure what Leia meant by that, as the apartment was pretty damn clean already.

Han decided to interpret it as her ordering to make himself presentable, so he opted for a shower to wash off the day's grit and engine grease, and when he was dressed, Chewbacca retreated to clean up as well, leaving Han to supervise the cooking. As far as supervision went though – it was just a matter of keeping an eye on timers, at this point. The Wookiee had invested himself in dinner with a fervor that Leia would probably appreciate but Han was diplomatically referring to as _going overboard_ and privately thinking might be bordering on _ass-kissing_ , but when he mentioned it, his co-pilot growled at him that ass-kissing was exactly what he should be doing.

Han scowled, shrugged, and grudgingly considered that was probably true, and he occupied himself wondering if Leia was going to change clothes when she got home or wear what she had on at work – at least he occupied himself with that until the door chimes rang, and he found himself shooting a narrow look at the kitchen chronometer.

It was certainly late enough for Leia to be home, though she wouldn't ring the door chimes.

He peered out of the kitchen down the hall, and then set his jaw as he went to get the door, unlocking it with a swipe of his palm and authorizing it to slide open.

He was unsurprised to find the Viceroy waiting there. He was early, and Han was well aware he was likely early on purpose. Han smiled a little tightly – Leia wouldn't be thrilled, predominately because she hadn't let them be alone together yet.

Han stepped back, and gestured for Bail Organa to enter, leaving the apartment door unlocked.

"Good evening, General Solo," Bail began pleasantly – he seemed unable to refer to Han as anything else, despite being asked to more than once.

Han figured it had more to do with his aristocratic breeding than any intention to be deliberately antagonizing, but it still nettled him.

"Evenin'," Han retorted, less refined, gruff.

Bail smiled.

"Is my daughter here?" he asked conversationally.

Han arched a brow.

"No," he said bluntly, his tone implying he was suspicious Bail already knew he would have beat her here – and he wasn't necessarily angry about it, he just didn't think Leia would like it.

"Ah," Bail said. "Well, I suppose it's just the two of us until she arrives."

Han gave him a calculating look.

"Want a drink?" he offered neutrally.

Without waiting for an answer, he beckoned, and the Viceroy followed him into the kitchen, watching Han rummage for glasses.

"Chewie's here," Han offered mildly, tilting his head towards the hall. "'Fresher – you've got him to thank for dinner."

"Leia did mention that," Bail said. He shook his head when Han held up a wine glass, and then nodded when Han held up a glass that was clearly for something stronger. "I get the impression he's quite the talented cook."

"Yeah," Han confirmed shortly. "That's an understatement."

Without asking, he poured whiskey for Leia's father, and slid it to him, leaning against the counter and folding his arms. Bail took the glass, and gave him a mildly curious look, noting he hadn't poured one from himself.

"You needn't abstain around me," he said. "There are no prohibitionists in House Organa."

Han arched an eyebrow.

"Your sister seems like the type," he said, and then paused, because he figured – after the fact – that it might have been an insulting comment. If it was, however, Bail gave no indication; he simple laughed a little grimly, and raised his glass.

"Yes, well," he said, clearing his throat pointedly. "She was young once, as we all were."

He took a drink of the whiskey while Han wondered if that was a subtle dig at how much older he was than Leia – he didn't respond to it, though, because he was still gauging the Viceroy's mood and intentions. He'd clearly intended to catch Han alone, but for what reason, Han wasn't sure – there wasn't time before dinner to get into anything, and Han was determined to try and avoid any conversation that might damage this evening – Leia didn't need to come home to that.

Han arched an eyebrow.

"You're early, Viceroy," he pointed out flatly.

"Bail," the Viceroy returned.

Han nodded, but as Bail kept using the title _General_ when he was asked not to, Han felt it was only fair that he continue to refrain from familiarity as well.

Bail Organa smiled a bit wryly.

"What's the game?" Han asked, his expression alert.

"No game," Bail answered simply. "I am merely making an effort."

Han shook his head.

"She won't like it," he said bluntly. "She's strategizing – you're interfering," he pointed out. It was good-natured, but he meant it; Leia clearly wanted this done a certain way.

"Well, my daughter may be in charge of your life, General, but she's far from in charge of mine," Bail quipped, his expression amused. "She didn't like it the last time I spoke with you alone, either – "

"I don't remember that turnin' out so well," Han pointed out warily.

"Our initial conversation was perfectly civil," Bail said, his voice a bit clipped. "It was later that things were…unpleasant."

Han raised his eyebrows at the mild choice of words, but said nothing right away. In his silence, Bail cleared his throat again, and set his glass down, looking at Han intently.

"As it were, General Solo – "

He was cut off by the musical notes of the door again, and Han lifted his head warily – it had to be –

"Pasha," Winter, not Leia's, voice rang through the apartment – and she said nothing else until she stood in the kitchen doorway, her head tilted, her expression a little triumphant, a little sly. " _Pasha_ ," she said again, her tone sounding remarkably like a chastising click of the tongue. "You old sneak."

Bail shot Winter a withering glance, and she strolled into the room, smiling brightly at Han.

"I hope he hasn't gotten underfoot, Han," she said, sighing dramatically. "He escaped from me."

She was being dramatic, but Han flashed a small smirk at her all the same. Bail continued to give Winter a mildly annoyed look, and she slipped her arm through his.

"You shouldn't wander about into people's houses prior to the fixed time," she said seriously, looking up at him.

Bail looked at her hand on his arm pointedly, and then lifted his chin, glaring at her.

"Stop speaking to me as if I am senile," he ordered.

"I wouldn't have to if I wasn't so concerned about your memory," Winter shot back glibly. "We were told half-past twenty."

"I see you arrived early as well," Bail retorted.

Winter tilted her head and then shot a wink at Han.

"Only to rescue Han from," she paused and, releasing Bail's arm, gave him a sharp look, "whatever you came here to do to him."

Bail held out his hand, non-threatening, at Han, his expression open.

"I'm merely engaging in cordial small talk," he defended.

Winter folded her arms, and looked to Han, one light brow raised expectantly. Han was silent just long enough to make it slightly uncomfortable, and then he smirked, and nodded at Winter, waving his hand casually at Leia's father.

"He wasn't doing anything," he confirmed honestly.

Winter, however, put his thoughts into words:

"Only because I arrived to interrupt, I'm sure," she said wryly, and reached out to squeeze Bail's shoulder. She rose up a little to match his height and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, which Bail accepted with an unreadable look that implied he had, in fact, been thwarted in something.

Han was willing to bet it had been nothing more sinister than his original visit to Han at the _Falcon_ weeks ago, but he couldn't be sure – and he wasn't about to probe for information, either.

Bail gave Winter another dignified sort of scowl, and she smirked, moving around in the kitchen, her eyes alighting on appliances, and cabinets, and –

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked Han kindly, her presence instantly easing some of the natural tension that existed between Han and Bail. She gave Han a look through her lashes that reminded him of Leia, and then said, with feigned innocence: "Will you be wearing your crown to dinner this evening?"

The smirk Han gave her had a warning edge to it, and she winked at him again, shaking her head – she wanted him to know that incident was not something that was going to hang over his head, and she informed him of that by making jokes in front of Bail – and laughing at the expression on his face.

"I'll set your table," Winter said warmly, reaching for a kitchen cabinet. "What wine is Leia serving?"

Han turned and ran his hand over the rack intently, frowning as he tried to remember what she'd said – white, white – no, red, but in a white bottle. He pulled the correct selection from its place and passed it to Winter, opening a drawer and passing her a corkscrew for good measure.

"Oh, she's got such good taste," Winter sighed, eyeing the bottle. She showed it to Bail. "Rouge will appreciate this."

Bail made a noise of approval, nodding his head – it was nothing particularly rare and unobtainable, just a well-respected burgundy wine that was upper echelon as far as wines went. Winter, every move as poised and elegant as Leia's, glided into the dining room with her hands full, and Bail cleared his throat pointedly, his face guarded.

"I did not arrive here early to back you into a corner and ambush you," he said, rectifying anything she might have implied. "I wanted to set a precedent."

Han arched a brow, and took the bait.

"Yeah?" he grunted. "What's the precedent?"

Bail blinked at him, still fairly unused to the rough, blunt language that was second-nature to Han Solo – and he looked at the man intently for a moment, deciding how to phrase it.

"That I have no qualms about being alone with you," Bail said.

"I'm flattered," Han retorted.

Bail blinked at him for a moment and Winter, returning for more plates, laughed smugly.

"Pasha you're – coming off as unintentionally romantic, perhaps choose your words differently," she advised, to the Viceroy's complete chagrin – he was annoyed enough for his ears to turn red, which Han thought was an interesting and very ignoble characteristic.

"Winter, were you not taught to speak only when you have something sage to say?" Bail demanded, annoyance slipping into his tone.

Winter sighed, shrugging as she disappeared.

"I'm fairly sure you taught Leia not to run off with criminals, but here we are," she responded, her voice echoing musically from the dining room.

Han grinned, but caught sight of the vastly annoyed look on Bail's face, and hastily wiped the smile off of his face – only because he wasn't quite sure if Bail was irritated with Winter, or irritated at the reminder of Han's persistently sketchy past.

He leaned forward a little, his voice low.

"She didn't run off with me," he advised, mustering a solemn expression. "I dragged her kicking and screaming, but she came around."

Bail blinked at him, either startled by the joke, or startled by Han's deadpan delivery of it – either way, it took him a moment to recover, and then he narrowed his eyes, a line in his jaw tightening.

"Leia's assured me you did nothing of the sort," he said tensely, as if he was suddenly expecting Han to confess to having hypnotized, drugged, swindled, and exploited his daughter.

"Good," Han said, a little more aggressively than intended, giving the Viceroy a pointed look – because he really had done nothing of the sort, and it was a damn blessing to know that not only had Leia driven that point home, Bail had accepted it.

"General Solo," Bail began firmly, "I came here with the intention of speaking to you without having to speak around Leia."

"Why?" Han asked, immediately wary. "What don't you want her to hear?"

"It's nothing like that," Bail returned, an edge creeping into his tone. "I intended to make an effort in showing that I am capable of," he broke off, unsure how to put it – what he wanted was to make it clear that he was not being open-minded, and putting in an effort, only in front of Leia and only when Leia was present to mediate. He was doing so, in a broader sense, because Leia's happiness depended on it, and in order for Leia to be at peace about this in general, he and Han both needed to be able to cultivate their own relationship outside of her.

Difficult as that may be.

Bail sighed tensely.

"Leia asked me to give you a chance," he said curtly. "I have assured her that I understand this is not a mere matter of giving you a chance, but of accepting that you are…irreversible," he chose his words thoughtfully, "permanent, for the foreseeable future."

Han looked at him cautiously, but critically, and the Viceroy spread his hands out.

"I've told you once already that I had no intention of paying you off or destroying my daughter's happiness," he said with finality, "and Leia…well, it seems that you make her happy."

Han was still considering Bail intently when Winter interrupted with a sigh, slipping past Bail to steal his glass of whiskey and hold it to her lips. She inhaled, and flicked him a glance.

"That was lovely, Pasha," she crooned.

His jaw twitched, and the shot her a look out of the corner of his eye.

"There is no need for babysitting, Winter."

She pursed her lips, and then there was a short exchange in Alderaanian which ended with Winter laughing, and leaning against the opposite counter, watching Han and Bail. She was here for Leia's sake, more than anything else, and because there was so much weight attached to dinner tonight – as there were so many people – she intended to prevent anything too heavy from happening.

She was just glad she'd heard Bail covertly leaving the Embassy much earlier than he should have been.

Han figured Bail was likely expecting him to say something grand and admirable, but he wasn't the effusive type, and he wasn't about to get into anything deep in the middle of the kitchen with a Wookiee in the 'fresher down the hall and a blonde-haired, bright-eyed audience.

So all he said was:

"I make Leia very happy."

Bail blinked at him suspiciously, and then gave him a very stern look that made have made a lesser man offering a stuttering apology. As the look had no such effect on Han, Bail threw a nasty glance at Winter, and she shrugged with nonchalance, holding her hand out flippantly.

"Well, I don't think he's lying," she said breezily, unconcerned with any possible innuendo, and pushing off the counter to poke around to kitchen curiously.

She still nursed the whiskey Han had originally given to Bail, and Leia's father reached up to rub his temple, his jaw set as he silently forced himself to adjust to this dynamic – Winter driving him crazy was absolutely nothing new, but a tall, smug, and scruffy suitor of his teenaged – _no, not teenaged_ – daughter was.

Winter strolled out of the kitchen for a moment, and Han heard her greet Chewie – the Wookiee responded with a pleasant, soft roar, and must have paused to speak with her, because Winter did not immediately return.

"Can she understand him?" Han asked, jerking his head in their general direction.

"Minimally," Bail said. "She's been listening to tapes," he volunteered, "as Leia told her Chewie was important."

Han smiled, and nodded to himself, pleased to hear Leia had said something like that – though he didn't doubt how much she valued Chewbacca.

Bail frowned, looking down at his hands for a moment, and then glanced off towards the front of the apartment, as if he were checking for Leia – even though his vantage point offered no view of the front door. He seemed torn between keeping conversations light, and probing a serious question – what Bail wanted to know was if Han was really as able to handle those nightmares, one of which Bail had unfortunately been present for, as Leia said he was.

Bail was simply so – worried about her, and he'd been worried enough before he was present for that, and he'd like to know if she was getting sleep, and he'd like to hear Han say all sorts of wonderful things about her, so he would know Leia's emotional investment in this man was returned at least ten-fold, if not more.

Han arched a brow at Bail's silence, and then turned to check something simmering on the stove, glancing in without much care, dropping the top of the pot down louder than necessary – he reached up and rubbed his jaw, and then turned back to the Viceroy, his arms folded.

"We're not going to have any more problems as long as you understand that I'm not bad for her," he said tersely. "Even if you don't understand somethin' about her, or somethin' she does not – I'm not the bad. I'm the good."

"Setting aside the fact that I still don't know you, personally, very well," Bail said, his tone just as clipped, "I believe that." He hesitated. "Leia has been abundantly clear with me about her feelings for you," he said, eyes intent on Han's face, "and I certainly hope you know the depth of those feelings."

The unspoken threat was fairly clear – _I cannot be held responsible for my actions if you let my daughter get hurt because you aren't as invested._

Han turned to the side, picking up a dish towel out of the sink and folding it without thinking. He smoothed the edge, and then flung it over the faucet, negating his work.

"I know how she feels," he muttered, almost to himself – he didn't need Bail to tell him, either. He'd spent years coaxing it out of her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bail nod, and after a moment, the Viceroy sighed.

"It's unlikely we'll have no more problems," he said, though his tone was light. "After all, you did teach my daughter to play that filthy card game."

Han was still looking at the sink, though after a moment, the words registered and his brow furrowed. He blinked, looking up and over.

"What?" he asked.

Bail gave him a stern look, and gestured vaguely with his hands.

"That infernal – gambling," he said. "Sabacc," he stated. "You taught her to play Sabacc," he accused.

Han looked at him blankly – he understood that Bail was being facetious, and certainly joking, but it wasn't really hitting the mark because –

"Leia won't play Sabacc," he said, snorting a little. "She has a whole little speech on what a 'needless risk' it is," he quoted, his voice going up a little mockingly at one point. He grinned. "I offered to teach her once," he noted, "she threw the cards at me. Still missing one."

Bail, however, did not seem to find this amusing or comforting, he was just staring at Han in consternation. Han arched an eyebrow at him, figuring he'd be glad that apparently, the extent of Leia's gambling consisted of putting her life on the line for various political causes.

"She – doesn't play?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"No," Han said slowly, looking at Bail warily. He tilted his head. "You just assume I corrupted her with all my bad habits?" he goaded. "She's got pretty firm convictions. Figure it'll take me a few more years before I get her gambling."

"She told me she played Sabacc with you," Bail said, ignoring the jibe. He lifted his chin. "She said that is how you passed the time to Bespin."

Han started to laugh, and then remembered who he was talking to, and paused, pointedly looking away. He frowned, but only because he was trying so hard not to start smirking _– Leia, you little liar_ –

"Hmm," Han grunted, non-committal. "That's not how I remember it."

"What do you – " started Bail, and then he stopped talking, sighed, and reached out for his glass of whiskey – as Winter had stolen it, he came up empty-handed, and a gloomy expression clouded his features. "Never mind," he said, a forlorn edge to his voice. "She was clearly attempting to spare me."

Han held up his hands.

" _I_ didn't turn her into a liar," he defended.

"Lies such as those are necessary for a father's ears," Bail grumbled, all the while telling himself – _she was an adult, she's an adult now, she's in charge of her own choices_ – and then, rather predictably, he could hear his late wife's voice in his ears – _don't be such a prude, B._

Han did grin, at that, shaking his head – he'd relish seeing the look on Leia's face when he told her about this little exchange. It served her right – she knew as well as anyone that when crafting a lie, the other people involved in the lie had to know the specifics.

Turning to flip off a switch when he heard an alarm go off, Han swiped another glass for Bail and smacked it on the counter, pouring them both a measure of whiskey. He picked it up and offered a toast, no strings attached, his expression wry.

"You'll get used to me, Viceroy," he said.

Bail lifted his glass in tandem with Han as Winter and Chewbacca entered the kitchen, making it instantly more crowded.

"Leia will be pleased to know there's no blood being drawn," Winter said mildly, retuning her glass to the counter. "Taking shots together, however," Winter sucked in her breath thoughtfully, and clicked her tongue.

"That's the idea, General Solo," Bail said, ignoring Winter but to give her another withering look. She smiled at him blithely, and Bail went on. "It's entirely possible that if you ever decide you want to marry her, I might approve."

Winter looked at Bail sharply, and then cast a warning glance to Han – but Han did not catch it, his words were already half out of his mouth before he realized Winter was giving a curt shake of her head.

He slapped the Viceroy on the back.

"She's already said she'll marry me," he drawled, tipping his glass smugly – he was halfway to saying something else, something like _'so you better wrap your head around that pretty quick'_ – when he finally noticed the small wince on Winter's face, and that silenced him – as Bail was giving him a pretty startled look.

It wasn't merely – startled, he looked like he'd been slapped in the face, which instantly told Han that whatever ground Leia had covered in her conversation with him, it hadn't included this. He was instantly defensive, and he felt a flare of sharp irritation at Leia – this was a bigger misstep than telling him she didn't play Sabacc – and Han grimaced, lowering his hand, but prepared to stand his ground.

Bail worked hard to squash the first thought that came to his mind – which was a loud, outraged paternal protest of _'not without my permission'_ – but he knew it was a declaration that would likely cause an explosive reaction from Han, and it wasn't fair to Leia – but somehow, the mention of matrimony – no, the confirmation of likely matrimony – was hitting him hard, like it had when Rouge mentioned it, and he wasn't quite sure why it seemed like such a fist to the gut, even though Leia had been fairly clear that she had no intention of this relationship ending.

Han eyed Bail, waiting for him to say something, and Winter brushed her fingers on her lips. Chewie gave a soft, welcoming growl, which alerted them all to Leia, who was standing in the doorway, looking at the crowded scene intently, her expression slightly perplexed. Her Aunt Rouge hovered behind her, brows lifted thinly.

"Father, if you came over early to ambush Han, I'm certainly glad Winter thwarted you," she said crisply, a lightness to her tone that was eliminated as soon as Bail turned around, his composure shaken, and with a look if disbelief –

"You've told him you'll marry him?" he asked quietly, a sense of hurt and – shock in his tone.

Leia blinked, clearly taken aback, and she felt a sense of dread crawl up her spine – she saw Winter's apologetic look, she felt Rouge's eyes boring into the back of her head, noted the expression on her father's face, saw Chewie dip his head slightly – and she saw Han, his expression somewhat smug, though it was clear whatever amusement he'd had was fading fast.

" _Han_ ," she snapped – and he immediately sobered completely, his jaw tightening.

She looked livid, briefly, and then unbelievably stressed out, and then the emotions all fell behind a cool mask, and the sharpness in her eyes was focused on him. It struck him that until now, he'd had her blindly on his side while she kept her father at arm's length. He figured it was good that strong familial bonds were awakening in her again, and that she was on decent terms with her father, but he didn't want to be on her bad side.

Leia compressed her lips, and stepped forward, and Winter slipped past her and took Rouge's arm.

"There's wine at the table, Auntie," she said.

Rouge merely had a prim, knowing look on her face.

"I told you, Bail," she said, giving him a sharp look as Winter led her away.

Chewbacca made a soft sound, eyeing Leia thoughtfully, and then stepped out for a moment, leaving Bail, his daughter, and her lover alone in the kitchen.

Han grimaced, and straightened up.

"Leia," he started.

She held up a hand, her mouth tightening.

"Father, I asked you to come over at a certain time so I would be here," she said sharply, "so this sort of thing wouldn't happen."

"What thing is that, Lelila?" he asked tiredly, though it was gentle.

"This," she said caustically, " _issue_ – when one of you opens your mouth and says something – provocative to the other," she ground out. "I want to make this adjustment – there is something to be said for a controlled environment – "

"There will not always be a controlled environment," Bail said shortly. He gave her a heavy, searching look. "There won't be any sense of organically getting to know each other, and forming a relationship, if our meetings are always supervised, Leia," he said sagely, frustration creeping into his tone. "There might be less fireworks, but there will also be less authenticity."

She didn't respond, because she knew he was right. Her lips tightened again, and she looked over his shoulder at Han tensely.

"May I speak with Han alone?" she asked curtly.

Bail glanced between them, and then nodded, ducking out of the kitchen. Leia waited a beat, until she heard his footsteps fade, and assured herself that he had not taken it upon himself to listen in, and she strode towards Han, her eyes darkening.

"You had to throw that in his face," she hissed, swallowing hard. "You had to – why did you tell him that, Han?" she demanded.

Because he was unhappy to be caught in this sort of situation, and because she was so immediately angry at him, his own anger flared quick, and he pushed back at her sharply.

"Why didn't _you_ tell him?" he fired back, forgetting to lower his voice, and then hastily doing so. "What the hell was your whole conversation with him about if it wasn't – "

"I needed him to accept the idea of you, and I needed him to start to accept you – marriage is – it's a big deal – "

"I know it's a big deal, Leia," he snapped, "why the hell do you think I haven't asked anyone but you?"

She blinked at him sharply, mellowed for a moment, and then shook her head, softening just a little.

"Han – there was virtually no divorce on Alderaan, marriage was sacred – it's such a serious commitment, and he…he needed more time for just you – "

"You don't exactly get married just to split up on Corellia either," he retorted, pointing at her sharply. "Leia, this is the second time you've kept something from him and then I've gotten the brunt of it – this isn't somethin' I asked you _recently_ , either," he growled. "You didn't really want me to ask him for his permission to marry you, did you?" he asked sarcastically.

" _No_ ," Leia snapped, her voice cracking. "I wanted him to have a little more time – I wanted to," she broke off, and Han was startled to see tears in her eyes. "I guess it didn't occur to you that I was – looking forward to telling my father I was getting married," she said, teeth clenched to prevent her voice from shaking, "and seeing him be genuinely happy for me?"

Han leaned back a little, lowering his hand, and Leia turned her head to the side, chin up bravely, blinking back tears.

"He needed a little more time," she protested quietly, "so that it was…instead of just another clinical piece of information he has to accept, it was…something good."

Han's shoulders sagged, but he still felt a burning frustrating at her for – putting him in this position. He'd opened his mouth, yes, but he had no way of knowing that Leia had regaled her father with their whole story and her feelings about him and chosen to leave out this one vital part –

"Sweetheart," he said gruffly, exasperated, tense, apologetic, "you've got to start telling him things, or you've got to tell me when he doesn't know something," he said.

Leia still looked away from him, and after a moment, she lowered her head slightly, and gave a tiny nod—that had been her mistake, but she hadn't expected her father and Han to be having a casual chat in the kitchen, and she sure as hell hadn't thought it would somehow turn into a conversation about – matrimony.

She let out a shuddering sigh, and then thrust her hand vaguely towards the dining room, her expression taut.

"Now he's seen us – he knows we're – fighting again," she said, "all he ever sees is us fighting or you snapping at him."

"I wasn't snapping at him," Han assured her grudgingly. "Winter was mediating," he quipped.

Leia put her hand to her face, her fingers gently probing her forehead, her eyes hidden, breathing out slowly into her palm. Han looked at her for a minute, still feeling tense and frustrated, resigned to the fact that things were just going to be uncomfortable, and slightly rough, for a while. He reached out and pressed his head lightly to the back of her head, drawing her forward. She let him, and she rested her cheek lightly against his chest.

"We're not fighting," he added quietly.

Leia put her hands on his sides, squeezed lightly, and nodded – she conceded that point; it was nothing like the previous fight Bail had seen, just a small spat – and, Leia admitted, partially her fault.

She should have – but she just desperately wanted her wedding announcement to be met with something other than resistance or disconcertion or wariness, and she thought if her father could just have a little more time –

She looked up at Han, swallowing tensely.

"I'm never going to be able to tell my mother I'm getting married," she said hoarsely. Her eyes swam again. He put one of his thumbs on her cheek, but the tears didn't fall. "I'll never get to see the look on her face."

Unspoken, she reprimanded him – _I at least wanted to see his_ – and Han's jaw tightened, because even if it had been unintentional, even if she hadn't properly prepared him for this, he felt like he'd taken something from her that she could never get back, and there was already so much she couldn't get back.

"Leia," he started. He paused, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry."

She heard the pain in his voice, and it made her feel guilty – she drew back, and reached up to touch his jaw, nodding.

"No," she corrected, a sigh escaping her lips. "You're – it's not your fault, Han," she said, stepping away. She turned to face the counter, shaking her head. "I don't know…what the hell possibly got the two of you on that subject," she murmured tersely, "but it's – you're right," she took a deep breath. "The idea of you was starting to settle so well, and I didn't want to," she broke off again. " _I'm_ sorry," she corrected.

Han stared at the side of her bowed head, and then reached up to run his fingers through her hair – it looked windswept and wavy, like she'd taken it down from its neat fishtailed braid on the way home, and let the open air brush through it. She smiled a little at the touch – days later, and he was still fascinated by the hair.

He watched her knuckles clench, and leaned over to kiss the side of her head.

"There's no way to navigate this without flaws, is there?" she asked – even if the Media hadn't ambushed Bail Organa, even if he hadn't walked in on brutal fight, even if, even if – it was just too unprecedented, too uncharted, to be smooth.

"Leia, I don't think he's that upset," Han muttered. Bail was the one who had mentioned marriage, anyway, which meant he'd cautiously considered that was where this would be going. He sighed a little harshly. "Look, now it's all out there," he said flatly. "There's nothing left to blindside him."

She examined her nails – that was true; there was nothing left. The Vader conversation, the Han conversation – all had been had, at least both had been had in such a way that the only thing to do was move forward; accept what could not be changed.

Leia took a deep breath, and lifted her head.

"Dinner was going to be an awkward affair anyway," she said mildly, composing herself.

She turned to Han, and gestured tightly to her face. He rubbed away just a tiny bit of smudged mascara and nodded – she looked completely fine, her usual controlled self. As he leaned down to kiss her, Chewbacca ambled in cautiously, eyeing them.

 _[Supper is ready,]_ he ventured, gesturing mildly. _[Winter has suggested the topic of Bonding be left for later,]_ he added thoughtfully. _[Your Pa has agreed – although,]_ Chewie said mildly _, [it seems your aunt has soothed him by mentioning that obviously you cannot intend to be Bonded soon, as Leia recently cut off her hair]._

Leia laughed hoarsely, a spark bursting into her eyes – and while Chewie grinned at her, Han still felt a little sheepish, a little nettled – but at least glad she was smiling.

"It grows frighteningly quickly," she quipped, with a warm smile at Chewbacca.

She looked up at Han, and tilted her head – indicating they should go in, and He nodded, setting his jaw and bracing himself – she was right, dinner would have no doubt been a very formal, awkward affair anyhow, with so many people and so many sensibilities to get to know and navigate – but now this would be hanging over them.

The least he could do was –

"Leia," he began, catching her arm and drawing her towards him. "Did you tell your old man we played Sabacc the whole way to Bespin?"

She blinked, and then turned her head into his mouth, her eyes narrowing sharply.

" _Yes_ ," she said emphatically, although it was clear, in that single word, that she was informing him she sincerely hoped he had not mentioned anything to the contrary –

Han exhaled, and lowered his lips to her shoulder in a contrite kiss.

"See, that's a thing you got to mention, Sweetheart," he drawled. "You've got to tell me these things," he reiterated.

He released her, and stepped beside her to enter the dining room, only to find she was frozen to the spot, her face a mixture of mortification and reluctance. She caught his eye, and her expression solidified into a narrow, reprimanding look, and he felt confident enough to flash a smirk at her – and she found herself thinking of Rieekan's words: this was a galaxy wide narrative, the tension between father and daughter's suitor, and there was going to be no completely smooth path no matter what she did.

* * *

Leia had originally thought having Winter and Chewbacca around for dinner as well would create more chaos than was healthy for the slowly burgeoning integration of Han's personality with the Organas, but the two of them so tactfully commandeered and directed conversation that it was a pleasant, polite affair with only one or two instances of tension.

Shortly after dinner, Rouge, Winter, and Chewbacca bowed out, though Bail stayed behind with an offer to help clean up – which Leia accepted, because she knew he wanted to talk to her, and he had every right to.

As it turned out, Bail Organa was as fascinated with Leia's endeavors in washing dishes as he had been when he discovered her meager culinary skills.

"Rouge," he decided, watching her run a sponge under hot water, "would have a stroke – _'Your hands, Leia – your hands will be rough!_ '" he mimicked.

Leia smiled softly, squeezing out the sponge. She handed it pointedly to her father.

"You scrub, I'll rinse," she said, "then, they go in the dishwasher."

Bail's brow furrowed.

"They're already clean, are they not?"

Leia inclined her head.

"According to Han, if I have washed them, they aren't clean until they also go in the dishwasher – and sometimes, not even then," she said, laughing under her breath.

She inched up the temperature on the water spigot she was holding, and arched a brow.

"My highbrow upbringing did not properly teach me how to clean dishes," she advised solemnly.

Bail looked bemused, rubbing the sponge between his hands until it frothed with bubbles. He started running it carelessly over the plate and then handed it to her, and then Leia stared at him. She swallowed carefully, shook her head, and took his hand.

"Scrub, Father," she said. "It's a verb – I know you aren't worried about the softness of your hands; you used to play Smashball."

He took her advice, and put more muscle into the dishwashing, and she arched a brow, entertained.

"I understand how Han feels when he watches me," she teased quietly.

Bail snorted.

"He does not," he said, lifting the plate to examine it with curiosity before handing it over hesitantly – she accepted it with a more approving nod, "seem like the kind of man who is overly concerned with washing dishes."

Leia smiled, spraying the plate with hot water to rinse, and leaning over to place it in the dishwasher rack.

"I know," she agreed, not taking the assessment as an affront. "He has several habits that seem…counterintuitive," she murmured. "He leaves dirty dishes in the sink for days, but when he cleans them, he _cleans_ them."

Bail, eyeing another plate full of soap suds, made a thoughtful noise.

"Where did he go?" he ventured – Han had put up a bit of a fight about letting Leia tend to the dishes, but when he'd been persuaded to relent, he'd come in after the table was cleared and disappeared.

"The _Falcon_ ," Leia answered mildly.

"What is he always doing to that ship?" Bail asked – how was it that a man could constantly have something to fix, tweak, manipulate, modify –

"It's often better not to ask," Leia said wryly. "Plausible deniability." She took a deep breath, placing another dish in the dishwasher without much thought. "I doubt he's there to work tonight," she remarked.

She didn't say anything else, because she was sure her father understood that Han had likely retreated because he felt like Leia's father needed space, after all that time at dinner, and after what had been revealed just before – and he probably didn't want to hang around Bail that much, anyway.

His brief moments of acting like himself around Bail had landed him in hot – or rather, perhaps lukewarm – water, and he as back to tight-lipped and circumspect, and as Han was skilled at neither of those things, he just removed himself altogether.

"I do hope he doesn't leave the planet," Bail remarked, deadpan.

Leia laughed, pausing and looking at her father, appreciative of the joke.

"Yes, once was enough," she agreed, lifting her brows intently. "I don't like it when he's gone," she confessed. "He knows that. He went anyway," she reminded him. " _I_ thought it best to let him go anyway."

"Yes," Bail agreed, clearing his throat. "I think it was helpful," he asserted. "I believe you and I were able to reach a point of better understanding – it was noble of him, to take that step back."

Leia just nodded, and turned back to rinsing, closing her eyes a little for a moment – she just hoped it wouldn't come to that again, or it wouldn't _keep_ coming to that, or –

"Leia, may I ask when he asked you to marry him?" Bail asked, keeping his voice even.

Leia was quiet, looking down at the stream of water she was wielding. She blinked hesitantly, and then looked up, and over at him, and gave a small nod.

"Recently?" Bail prompted.

Leia compressed her lips.

"He asked," she began, her voice small. She cleared her throat, and spoke up. "He asked last year," she revealed. She paused before going on, and entrusted her father with more information as a gesture of good faith. Turning towards him, she explained quietly: "After the Battle of Endor, we were all authorized home leave, before the next phase began," she said, "and I had nowhere to go." Her voice was soft, hushed with the pain of what that moment had felt like, the smoke all clearing from the crux of the war and her realizing, really realizing, that when the time came to settle down – she had nowhere.

She swallowed hard.

"Han took me to Corellia," she broke off a moment – she didn't to get into the details of how devastated she'd felt, for a brief time, while she was there with him, and she didn't want to really illustrate how his proposal had come out nowhere, because she was never quite sure what possessed him to ask then – but he had, and there was no going back. "He asked me there."

She turned to the sink again, and flicked off the water for a moment, shaking off her hands.

"A year ago," her father murmured to himself, thoughtful.

Plates clinked together as he moved his hands, and drew them out of water, resting them on the edge, looking at her intently.

"Yet, you aren't married," he pointed out obviously. "He asked a _year_ ago?" he repeated.

She understood her father's confusion – Alderaanian engagements were short. Courtships were often long and leisurely, with careful time spent on evaluating compatibility and solidifying emotional bonds, but engagements were never protracted.

Leia nodded, flicking water off her hands again.

"There was a lot going on, directly after Endor," she murmured. "There were still battles to fight, Grand Moffs and Warlords to defeat – and Han went to challenge one of the worst of them immediately, while I was trying to garner the support of as many systems as possible," she explained. "There wasn't time. And, then, when everything settled," she trailed off.

"Mon Mothma saw you as more of a chess piece than you expected," Bail guessed grimly.

"It wasn't just her," Leia said shortly. "It was all of them. I wasn't sure how the Diaspora would feel – I had some concern they'd ask me to step down from my position, and then there was the …debacle with Hapes," she said _debacle_ with a curious amount of fondness.

Leia sighed, and shook her head, frowning.

"There has been so much chaos, and so much bloodshed, and so much – of everything, that it wasn't the first thing on the list to do," she explained, "and it wasn't the first thing on the list because," she shrugged a little, "Han and I don't need the ceremony to define the commitment."

Leia looked up thoughtfully for a moment, her lips turning down a little tiredly.

"I think he wants it more, now," she murmured.

"More than you do?" Bail asked.

She shook her head sharply – that wasn't what she'd meant at all.

"He didn't expect the backlash," she said. "The Media that's – a silly nuisance, but people like Dodonna, Mon Mothma," she listed, turning her gaze on her father. "They respected him during the war. They valued him. And now they…well, you've seen it," she said, her voice hardening. "They took their issues straight to you. Never mind that you'd been through so much, as long as you could get my love life under control."

Bail smiled a little grimly, remembering one of his fist Council meetings, Rieekan's sharp, scathing jibes – something about fetching him to place Princess Leia in time out.

"You know, part of his hostility – when he's been hostile," Leia ventured, "is that he doesn't want to lose me."

She chewed on the inside of her lip, and narrowed her eyes intently at her father.

"He knows how much my public political life means to me. He knows how much of myself I put into this fight, and he's seen me deprive myself of personal satisfaction in the past in order to further a cause," she held her father's eyes, willing him to understand. "I don't want him to be a casualty of life I was born to, or the one I chose to lead," she said softly. "I'd like Han to be the one thing that, in spite of everything, I can have because I want him. Not for political reasons, or strategy, or anything like that – because I want him. And because Han hates everything about politics and elite social structures and a life that comes natural to me and he asked me to marry him anyway."

Bail shifted his hands, lifting another plate to scrub. He tilted his head back and forth thoughtfully, nodding.

"I'm not going to shake my fist at a man who will fight that hard for you, Lelila," he said mildly. He sighed heavily. "It was merely a shock to hear him say you were going to marry him – "

"Father, he asked – when he asked, you were dead," she said, her voice shaking. "He _couldn't_ have gotten your permission," she said the word a bit sourly, "and Han would have thought asking you was ridiculous – "

"I understand, Leia, I know," Bail soothed firmly. "This happened, along with everything else since you were nineteen, when I was not in the picture, and I can't retroactively fit myself in. And permission is not the word to use – you're beyond legal age, so – "

"Your blessing, then," Leia interrupted, turning her eyes on him again. She felt them stinging, felt her eyelashes dampen, and she wanted to scream at herself for letting tears threaten her for a second time tonight. "I want your blessing. I _wanted_ your blessing, and your receptivity to Han is so fresh," she said hoarsely.

She swallowed, licking her lips.

"I _know_ how intensely we – Alderaanians – value marriage. I knew it might add a dimension that you were unprepared for even if you thought you were. I didn't want you to think I was taking it lightly because you thought _Han_ might be taking it lightly," she reasoned, "and because I have faced disdain for Han and disapproval for this choice at every single turn, I wanted you to adjust to him a little more before you were overwhelmed with _this_ , too."

Leia lifted her damp hands and pushed her hair back, swiping subtly at her eyes and letting out her breath. She put her hand over her mouth and then turned towards him fully.

"Instead of Mon Mothma looking at me like I'm a wasted opportunity, or Dodonna looking at me like I'm a little fool he can't respect anymore, or Threkin Horm looking at me like I'm sullied and easy, I wanted you to hear it and perhaps be comfortable enough that you looked at me and were happy for me," she said, "instead of," she waved her hand, defeated, "the way you looked at me before dinner."

Leia rubbed her forehead.

"I do want you to know it's not public knowledge," she said, speaking around her arm. She lowered it after a moment and looked at him sincerely. "Winter and Chewbacca know."

Bail had abandoned the last dishes, and was wiping his hands – he'd been listening, very intently, trying to discern why the few mentions of marriage had shaken him so much. He had started to think it was merely another manifestation of how shocked he was that she was old enough for all of this. He kept starting to think, or to say – _Leia, you don't know what you're getting in to!_ – but he had to catch himself, and remind himself that she did.

This girl had fought war from start to finish, and experienced the worst of things in between, and she had good head on her shoulders in spite of it – he knew she did, because he'd helped put it there, and he'd given her the tools to keep it screwed on straight.

"You know – Rouge mentioned this, the other night," he said to her. "She _said 'Leia's going to marry that man'_ – and I asked her not to be hasty." He shook his head. "I don't think this should surprise me," he remarked slowly. "Thinking back on what you've told me about him," he went on, and then paused, "It's a bit embarrassing Rouge found that obvious before I did," he finished wryly.

Leia laughed hoarsely.

"Rouge is a woman," she said wisely – even if she was a finicky, excitable, conservative old thing, she was a woman, and that was why she had always been quicker to ferret out Leia's youthful shenanigans than Bail had.

Bail was silent, and thoughtful, and a strange expression crossed his face.

"Father?" she asked.

"I was considering," he said slowly, "what things would have been like if you had been married when I – returned," he said, unsure of what word to use for his – resurrection, emergence?

Leia raised her brows, thoughtful – and he'd have found the whole galaxy in uproar, no doubt, because so soon on the edge of Imperial defeat, Princess Leia had gone and tied the knot with that rapscallion Captain Solo, a scandal of a victory prize for them all to salivate over.

"You think that would have been better?" she asked gently. "Easier?"

Bail looked at her with an incredulous light in his eyes.

"Strangely," he said," I do."

Leia looked taken aback, and then gently amused, and then she lifted her shoulders, helpless – it just further illustrated that this situation was impossible, and because it was impossible, it would have been tangled and snarled no matter what – even if she'd never been hurt in the war, even if she was just an ordinary girl, with an ordinary father, and no dark family histories or scoundrel lovers to contend with.

"I could elope," she quipped softly, a wry offer, and a part of her desperately wished to have it over and done with, so there would be absolutely no more equivocating on the part of anyone – _Princess Leia married Han Solo: the end, move on._

Bail gave her a withering look.

"You expect me to live with your Aunt Rouge if you go off and elope?" he asked.

Leia laughed hoarsely.

"Aunt Rouge is appalled at the idea of Han," she countered.

"She will be twice as insufferable if he is not only a commoner, but the commoner who stole her chance at seeing her niece's wedding," Bail retorted.

Leia relaxed against the counter, smiling with more hope, cautiously optimistic.

"Well, I suppose you don't have to live with her forever, Father," she said. "You're both welcome to the Embassy suites, of course, but you're also free to – live your lives."

"Whatever our lives are," Bail said, somewhat haggardly.

Leia smiled, her lips pressed together quietly.

"Your lives are Alderaan," she said gently. "Preserving it, rebuilding it – leading the diaspora."

"And yours?" he probed – on that note, on that question, and it was another inquiry posed to her about who she was, and who she was going to be now that her life was ahead of her.

"It's my life, too," she promised. "I'm…still Alderaan's voice in the senate, and I'm the curator of a shared terrible experience, making sure no one forgets what we lost, and what we fought for – all of us, not just Alderaan."

Bail nodded – there was so much she had to be, for so many people.

He reached out and took her hand, looking down at it – his remark about Rouge lamenting Leia jeopardizing her soft hands seemed absurd now, incongruous, because Leia's hands had long ago lost their untouched smoothness, but they were strong now, and only made more beautiful, and more impressive, somehow, by the roughness of her palms, and a fading scar that dashed across the underside of three fingers.

"Were there...plans laid, for a wedding?" he asked carefully. "Before our beacon. Before our ship reappeared."

Leia shook her head.

It had all been lingering – and before this had all crashed into reality, she'd only just begun to start thinking of when she was going to ease the former Alliance High Command, now legitimate government, into the idea of Han at her side, permanently.

"I would like the chance to get to know General Solo more before something this monumental takes place," he allowed, watching her expression carefully. "My asking you to wait is not to say I will be in anyway attempting to stop it or discourage you," he added.

Leia looked down at his hand on hers and held her breath a moment. She looked up through her lashes, and then straightened.

"The thing is," she said honestly, "I don't – Father, I can't tell Han that everything is just on indefinite hold until _you're_ ready," she pleaded quietly.

"You think he'll get tired of waiting?"

"No," Leia said quietly. Han had done plenty of waiting for her, and she was fairly confident he'd continue to do so. "I think it will only breed more resentment in the long run."

She took a deep breath.

"I don't want to put him off. I want to marry him," she said. "It doesn't have to be tomorrow. But I'd like it to be sooner rather than later."

She saw her father take a deep breath, and in the quiet moment, she felt that every bit of his emotion had more to do with her, grown up before his eyes, and her, having this talk with him, than it had to do with Han.

Bail clasped both of her hands in his and nodded, keeping his expression balanced, and firm.

"Leia," he began, "if you'd – agree to it," he said kindly, but she could tell he was earnest, and he was wary of her turning him down, "I'd like to give you – I'd like you to have a traditional Alderaanian wedding."

Leia's lips parted – it hadn't been entirely what she'd expected him to say, but she supposed she wasn't surprised. It seemed such a simple request – but then of course, it wouldn't be so simple, at all, because she was a Princess, and she was a Princess of House Organa, and that meant dignitaries and fine dining and all the trappings of a royal wedding along with traditional Alderaanian music and vows and food.

And Han – she was sure Han would hate it, the idea of all of fêting and emotional vulnerability in front of crowds of people.

The request, however, tugged at her heart – because for a moment she was a child again at Deara Antilles' wedding, laying over her mother's lap as she watched the bride and groom, awestruck, thrilled with the idea of one day having a ceremony like that of her own.

She thought of her mother, and her eyes stung with tears.

"Father," she managed hoarsely. "Would she like him?"

She didn't even have to say her mother's name, Bail knew instantly what she wanted – Breha's approval, Breha's gentle, sweet smile, Breha's words, Breha's blessing – and he knew his wife well, better than anyone ever had.

"Breha liked everyone," he said honestly. "She _loved_ everyone. She had a habit of saying, even on the darkest days, that people like Emperor Palpatine happened when they weren't given enough love and compassion, and we should remember that in our hatred of him – that all he'd ever had was too much hatred."

Leia crossed her hands over her stomach, biting the inside of her lip – yes, that infuriating, violently loving, brutally sweet part of Breha that Leia had never had – she'd never been able to muster that sort of wise love and burning compassion. Leia was quick to be affronted, and even quicker to determine how vengeance for injustice would be exacted.

"Your mother was the most sensible, accepting, generous person I ever knew," Bail said, "and your affection for General Solo would have been enough to tell her he deserved her love," Bail lowered his head a little, "as, I suppose, it should have been for me."

Leia breathed out slowly, looking down at her feet. She closed her eyes tightly, and she held the tears in rather than forcing them down her cheeks, comforted by the thought – even though Breha wasn't here, Leia trusted Bail's assessment – and she remembered, so clearly, what a genuine saint her mother had been.

Leia took in a deep breath this time, and unfolded her arms, leaning forward and hugging her father quickly.

"There aren't any more shocks, Daddy," she promised quietly. "Nothing else," she pulled back, nodding firmly – from this point on, anything that happened would unfold equally in front of them; there was nothing left she hadn't told him about Han – nothing big, that is – and there was nothing left he hadn't told her about Vader.

He looked at her intently and then narrowed his eyes.

"No illegitimate children?" he asked.

Leia laughed shakily, a shocked glint flickering through her eyes briefly.

She shook her head, then shrugged.

"Oh, only one," she joked.

Her father did not look amused, and she shook her head again, just to reiterate the point – _no, and yes, I'm sure; I would have noticed._

Bail smiled and ran his hands over her arms, squeezing her elbows.

"He's a hard man to read, Leia," Bail said, referring to Han intently. "He has a peculiar way of seeming…irreverent. Careless. About everything."

"Hmm," Leia murmured. "That persona takes effort and dedication to craft," she said.

"And you have the power to get under that persona?" Bail asked.

Leia lifted her hand lightly.

"I unravel him like thread."

Bail smiled a little tiredly, and stepped back.

Leia tucked some hair behind her ear and turned back to the sink, examining the things left. She picked up a streaky plate and looked at it, imagining Han's annoyance. She flicked on the water, and sprayed it halfheartedly – washing dishes really wasn't her forte.

Bail turned back to help, but glanced at the chronometer briefly.

"Will he be back?" he asked, brow furrowing.

Leia glanced at the time, too. She lifted one shoulder.

"He's likely waiting for you to leave," she said honestly, "which, in turn, means he's likely to fall asleep on the ship."

Leia set aside a dish.

Bail grimaced.

"That makes me the guy who deprived him of his apartment for the night," he said distastefully – he hardly wanted to be seen as wedging himself in inconveniently, there was already enough discomfort and unfamiliarity still simmering.

Leia compressed her lips.

"It's nothing to worry about," she demurred. "If he doesn't appear for a while, I'll go down and stay with him."

"You'd sleep on that filthy ship?" Bail asked, affronted.

Leia gave him a look.

"That…unique ship," Bail corrected hastily.

Her lips turned up a little, and she shrugged. She paused a moment, and took a deep breath.

"I have…the least nightmares when I'm on the _Falcon_ ," she remarked quietly – and hers had been bad lately, even with Han home.

The first few nights had been a mixture of exhaustion and a few good hours of deep sleep, because Han had been the one keeping her awake in a heart-pounding, heated way rather than bad dreams, but they were creeping back, and they were linked to Luke – and she knew she needed to do something to sort out all the chaos in her head, and she didn't know if it was reading Shmi Skywalker's journal or giving in and asking Luke to teach her to mediate.

Her father's voice broke into her head, curious –

"Why do you think that is?" he asked – about her nightmares, about the _Falcon_.

She was quiet a moment, and then she took a deep breath, tilting her head intently.

"I think," she began. "I think because…the first time I set foot on the _Falcon_ , it took me away from the worst things that had ever happened to me."

In a way, she had even come to love the ship before she'd come to love Han.

Bail nodded, thoughtfully, and Leia snapped her fingers and pointed to a soapy dish, putting his attention back there – and breathing a sigh of relief that this was a move forward again. She still sensed her father would expect the kind of declaration from Han, in favor of Leia, that he was accustomed to at home, but she thought he might also realize that wasn't Han's style – and so much of the problem was Han and Bail coming to understand that despite their different vantage points, they had the best interests of the same woman at heart.

* * *

 _-alexandra_


	26. Twenty Five

_a/n: it's a Luke -centric (ish) chapter! Luke's turn to shine! (never forget that Luke is my personal fave)._

 _ **Note: I am adding a trigger warning for this chapter. Same trigger warning that applied in chapters 8 and 15.** _

* * *

**_Twenty-Five_**

* * *

Finally off duty after a longer than usual stretch, and slightly energized by the plans he'd been making for his next search through history – both personal and Jedi – Luke Skywalker sought Han at the _Falcon_. He was eager to collect the items – heirlooms, relics? – that Han had offered him from Tatooine, and the only place to find Han in late afternoon was his beloved ship.

Luke let his footsteps on the boarding ramp announce his presence, and he heard Han shout something from inside the _Falcon_.

"It's Luke," he shouted back, peering around.

There was a loud, indescribable noise, quiet, muffled swearing, and then Han yelled back, tersely –

"Cockpit."

Luke turned and found his way to the cockpit, a small frown touching his lips – Han had sounded irritated this morning when he asked if he could get the objects today, and he sounded tense now. Luke could sense a sort of emotional strain present – it seemed like Han was under pressure, or feeling anxious or just…discontent altogether, and Luke was unsure if it had to do with Leia, or her father – or both.

He stepped into the cockpit, and found the Corellian on the floor, twisted around one of the chairs, tangled in something under the consoles. He looked like a very large, uncomfortable snake, and Luke gave his position an amused look before clearing his throat.

Han looked up, and then tied off a wire, put the tool he was holding in his mouth for a moment, and sat up, careful not to hit his head. He grabbed the tool from his mouth and threw it to the side, standing up and moving to sit stiffly in the pilot's chair, running a hand rigidly through his hair.

"Hey, kid," he greeted, with little of his usual amiability.

Luke's frown deepened slightly, though he didn't remark on it yet. He sat down when Han gestured for him to, and cleared his throat – given that he'd just been on duty, he wasn't in his typical caped, black-tunic Jedi attire, but his military uniform, complete with the Commander insignia on the shoulder. He shifted uncomfortably – like Han, he wasn't fond of his uniform, either, but it bothered him for reasons of comfort, whereas it bothered Han because he didn't like the hierarchy.

"What's wrong with the ship today?" Luke asked, arching a brow.

Han gave the console a dirty look.

"The computer is fried," he answered darkly. "Calculations aren't working unless they're manually input."

Luke grimaced.

"How'd that happen?"

Han turned a withering look on Luke.

"Well, _someone_ ," he said emphatically, so emphatically that Luke was able to figure out that _someone_ translated to _your_ _sister_ , "was in here updating the software and for some unfathomable reason had a cup of kaffe sitting next to her."

Luke winced – Han's glowering hinted that perhaps this was why there was so much tension simmering around him; the only thing Leia didn't get away with when it came to Han was harming the ship.

"I take it this…someone spilled it?"

Han shot a narrow look over Luke's shoulder.

"All over the damn control panel."

Luke pressed his lips together, and then tilted his head, furrowing his brow.

"What was Leia doing down here?" he asked curiously. "I mean – her days of devoting time to _Falcon_ -fixing are past, aren't they?"

Han turned to the console, his chair swaying, and flicked a few controls – a light flickered, he smacked the console with his fist, and the light stayed steady, prompting Han to give it a scowl, and then run his hand over some buttons affectionately, as if he were apologizing to it. He didn't answer immediately, and then when he did, he didn't look at Luke.

"She slept here last night," Han muttered.

Luke arched his brows curiously, and Han rubbed his jaw.

He'd woken up to find her attending to a software update he kept neglecting, which he'd thought was nice of her, until she sent the kaffe flying all over the console – _Falcon_ -based arguments were always fairly nasty, but this hadn't even been solely about that –

"Han?" Luke asked.

"What?" Han grunted, and then looked at him blankly for a moment. "Yeah – you want your Vader toys," he said, a bit sarcastically.

Luke rolled his eyes, and leaned forward.

" _You're_ the one who hunted them down, you know," he reminded him.

Han gave a noncommittal grunt, and stood up, departing the cockpit. He made a quick trip down to the bunkroom, where he'd stashed the satchel Sorna had given him, and then strolled back to the cockpit, tossing it into Luke's lap. He sat back down, leaned back, and ran his hand over his face, watching the kid intently.

"You found this," Luke started, running his hands over it before he peered in the bag, "at my old homestead?"

Han shook his head, then paused, and waved his hand vaguely.

"Leia told me about Shmi Skywalker, so I – put the name out there, to see if anyone knew her," he explained. "This woman, Sorna, was her friend, and she got that stuff from Dama Whitsun."

"Aunt Dama," Luke muttered, nodding.

"Yeah, seems like the Darklighters found a bunch of the Lars family stuff in trunks in some cellar," Han said gruffly. "But you'd already washed your hands of the place, so it went to your aunt's family."

Luke was rolling the bag open a little, folding fabric down, reaching in to hold the holograph cube in his palm, his eyes on it curiously – he couldn't believe he'd been so quick to abandon that property, that he'd let his guilt, and his desire to turn away from a tragedy that he considered to be his fault, had resulted in his overlooking this history buried beneath the surface –

"And she told you these were…Shmi Skywalker's things," Luke said, eyes on the powered down holocube.

Han nodded curtly.

"Apparently Vader's mother loved him," he said sarcastically.

Luke gave him a look, and flicked on the holocube. He blinked at the image – the young Anakin Skywalker and his childish, exuberant leaping-for-joy – and then his expression was startled, startled and – fascinated.

Han watched him grimly.

"I thought that was you," he said slowly, "at first."

"He _looks_ like me," Luke agreed. "Or I guess…I look like him," he corrected thoughtfully – among the shimmering pixels, there was no way to tell what colour eyes Anakin Skywalker had, but Luke was sure they were the same eyes that he met in the mirror every morning.

"Hmm," Luke muttered to himself. "A human really did win the Boonta Eve."

Han arched an eyebrow, and before he could comment, Luke looked up sharply.

"Has Leia seen this?"

"She wouldn't turn it on," Han said flatly. He shot a wary glance at the image, and leaned forward. "I don't blame her," he said curtly.

"He's only a little kid in this," Luke said logically.

"Yeah," Han said dryly. He swallowed hard. "Luke, Vader didn't treat me half as bad as he treated Leia, and that image gives _me_ the creeps," he confessed, his voice dull.

Luke flicked off the image, and looked at the space where it had been.

"I can see that," he acknowledged slowly. "He's got such an innocent smile and then…knowing what he turns into," he paused respectfully.

 _"Experiencing_ what he turns into," Han added tersely. He hesitated. "She said she needed to look at it, but she couldn't."

Luke leaned back. He set the cube aside, and then pulled out the amulet, running it over in his hands. The designs were childish, but made with attention and care – the rope fraying, touched by fingerprints – Luke could draw feelings of earnestness from it, a youthful desire to please someone, kindness, a sad sort of longing – Anakin's feelings as he made this, surely, and then Shmi's, as she wore it, and missed him.

Han's expression was stony, and Luke looked up – there was nothing else in the bag, and yet –

"You mentioned a journal?" he ventured. "Where - ?"

Han's response was clipped, bordering on pissed, even:

"Leia has it."

Luke's eyes almost popped out of his head – Han had originally said he had these things, and that he'd sought them out for both of their sakes, that Leia's reaction had been – fairly predictable, and yet –

"She – _Leia_ has it?" he repeated, and Han just gave him a flat look. "She's reading about Anakin Skywalker?"

Luke's disbelief was palpable – and Han saw the glint of cautious hope in his eyes, and his jaw clenched, because he'd been cautiously optimistic when she first held that diary, too, and now, a week later, he was second-guessing ever giving it to her, he was angry at himself, he was worried about her –

"No," Han corrected, trying and failing to keep the bitter edge out of his tone, "she's spending a lot of time staring at it, and not sleeping."

Luke's expression faded into a disheartened frown, and he tilted his head, looking down at the carved amulet for a moment. Han leaned back and rubbed his jaw again, his expression full of harsh lines for a moment, and then tired defeat. Luke looked up at him, hedging towards the cause of the unbelievable tension he was feeling, and hesitated before asking –

"Is everything okay between you two?"

Han let his hand fall onto the armrest, the back of his knuckles hitting hard.

"We had a fight," he said bluntly. He stared at his palm for a minute, and then clenched his fist, shaking his head. He learned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked down at the floor of the cockpit. "I started it," he muttered, and the anger in his tone was clearly directed at himself.

His mood wasn't just due to spilled coffee and a fucked up computer console – it was the fact that Leia had been working on the ship because she was unable to sleep, and she sensed how tired Han was in turn _because_ she kept waking him up, and after waking up breathless and disturbed two or three times, she didn't want to try to go back to sleep, so her exhaustion led her to clear her head the way he did – and him, stumbling upon her in the cockpit, had startled her, and that's why the kaffe was spilled –

\- and it hadn't been enough to fight over that, he'd pointed out that dwelling on that diary without confronting it was only heightening her issues, and Leia fell back on her venomous tendency to dig her teeth into sore spots when he came close to suggesting she might need help –

 _You're only angry because I hurt your precious ship!_

 _I would have never brought that shit back if I knew it was going to make you worse!_

Leia, looking at him like he'd slapped her – but it infuriated him when she threw accusations like that at him, as if he could _ever_ care about the damn _Falcon_ as much as he cared about her.

Han clenched his teeth sourly. He hadn't meant it to sound like he didn't want to deal with her, or he thought she was trouble – he just felt like his attempt at providing some way for to her to cope had backfired, and if she couldn't sleep it was _his_ fault – and she needed to go back to whatever had been helping keep her steady before her father returned, and everything came crashing back -

"I don't know why I thought this would help," he growled. "That bastard hurt her," Han said, looking at Luke darkly, "and then I come at her like you do, with stuff that humanizes him – "

"This little boy _didn't_ hurt her," Luke said softly, holding up the amulet, gesturing at the holocube. "I know how angry she gets – I know how angry _you_ get – when I try to bring this up, but Leia's struggle has everything to do with being unable to reconcile the complexities of who Anakin was, and who he became – she can't forgive, she can't confront – "

" _Forgive_?" Han lashed out, the word echoing through the cockpit. "You want – "

"No," Luke said shortly, his eyes narrowing, "I'm not even – I don't think she'll ever be able to do that, and I'm not going to ask her to – "

"But you want her to just forget –

" _No_ ," Luke interrupted again. "She's conflagrating her self-worth with a villain, a dictator, and she's taken no time to consider that Vader, as an entity, was a twisted, corrupted, mutated version of the man who fathered her – and she's only going to be able to find some peace within herself if she lets go of her fear of the Force and her hatred."

"You can't ask her not to hate Vader, Luke!" Han snarled defensively.

"I can ask her not to hate herself and where she came from," Luke said firmly.

"Leia doesn't hate herself," Han snapped.

Luke swallowed.

"Hate's too strong of a word," he allowed, "but she's afraid of who she is, and she's afraid that expressing any interest in Vader's origins means she's accepting him and supplanting Bail Organa, or that it's validating and justifying what he did."

Han looked mutinous, and then he looked terse and confused and he held up his hand.

"You're talking," he said tightly, "like you're the one who lives with her, not me," he managed, his teeth clenched. "You've got a connection to her, Luke, but you can't know how she's – "

"Han," he said haggardly, "I'm having every nightmare she has – it's almost as if subconsciously, she's begging for help with it, she's reaching out through the Force, but she doesn't understand the power, so she's reaching for me."

The disturbed look on Han's face gave Luke pause for a moment, and he sat back, reaching up to rub one of his eyes – this connection to Leia via her nightmares was new, and exhausting, and eye-opening – he found his rest in meditation, during the day, while she was at work, and he waited, patiently, for the breaking point that would bring her to him for help in the _waking_ hours.

Luke looked down at his lap.

"You've said before you won't tell me the things she tells you, or where her head is," he mumbled, "and I get that – I don't want you to. I want her to trust you," he said, taking a deep breath, "so let me just tell you that I get it. I've been there," he looked up, and raised his hand. "He cut my hand off, Han," Luke said firmly, "his final choice, his decision to return to the light, was so down to the wire that I tasted death in my mouth, thinking my own father was going to _unflinchingly_ watch me die – the inner turmoil of coming to terms with the fact that my father became Darth Vader almost dragged me into the blackness with him."

Han's jaw was tight, a muscle flickering in his temple, and he listened, unexpectedly entranced – he was used to Luke's effervescence, and sometimes he was used to his priestly, sage wisdom, but he was not used to hearing him speak of defeat, or darkness.

"When I found out Vader was my father, I didn't want to throw my arms around him," he said dully. "My peace came later. I struggled for it – but I attained it. I attained it, Han," he leaned forward, "because I forced myself to confront it, to dissect the past, to separate myself from his choices, promise myself my destiny was not his," he trailed off. "Leia's on the _brink_ ," he said.

Han's expression was cold for a moment, defensive.

"Of what?" he demanded. "Turning into Lady Vader because she doesn't want to play lightsabers with you?"

Luke shook his head, choosing, for his own sanity, to ignore Han's acidity, and continue:

"It was bad at first because she had no answers, because Vader was always going to be Vader – it's bad in a different way now because he has a history, he had a wife who loved him – and the Viceroy is back making her confront how betrayed she felt by _him,_ " Luke, having experienced her nightmares with her for days, could interpret them fairly well – and he knew Leia understood her own conflict, too.

The meshing of Vader and Bail, not knowing where she belonged, who she was – she needed equilibrium; her strength was unparalleled, and she may have lived on, and fought on, but the scar tissue that had woven itself over her wounds left infection underneath, and what Leia needed was _healing_.

Han swallowed hard, staring at Luke – this young kid, with so much power in his hands, and a sense of justice and compassion that transcended understanding.

"Hearing about Vader's past made it worse," Han said hoarsely. "I showed her that stuff," he nodded at Luke's objects, "and that – journal, of Shmi Skywalker's – and I feel like it's killing her. I should have left it buried in the goddamn sand. She'd be better off – if Vader was just a faceless monster, and Padmé Naberrie was no one to be proud of. Then she could turn her back on it."

Luke looked away, thoughtful, a frown tugging at his mouth.

"She _wouldn't_ be better off," he said heavily. "I think she used to think that. I think she's starting to realize she was wrong."

Han was _sure_ she used to think that – she had always rejected Luke's attempts to humanize him, to redeem him; she had only warily agreed to Luke searching for their mother – and she had resisted, and agonized, over hearing the truth from her father.

He didn't know what she thought now – she had seemed to equivocate on who Vader was to her; she had called him Anakin while she held the amulet in her hand, she had been receptive, and then not as receptive, to the items; she clung to the journal, but she shut it in drawers – and amidst the specter of Vader, there was the living, breathing father she knew and loved, hovering somewhere between being a soothing figure and a source of tension and stress.

Han sat back, looking out the viewport stiffly.

"I'm not going to hassle her about this," he warned. "I've already – " he broke off, his anger at himself rising painfully in his chest, over the fight this morning – he wondered if she understood that he felt powerless to make her feel better sometimes. "It's not just Vader, kid," Han said curtly. "It's Bail, too. It's Tarkin, it's...she was violated."

"I know," Luke said softly. "She hasn't forgiven Bail for keeping this from her. It doesn't matter if she understands why were hidden. Tarkin...Tarkin, and the things he had done to her, I don't know what I can do to help with that. It's not the same kind of trauma. It's different."

Han nodded shortly, and Luke was quiet a moment, before continuing -

"I meant to ask – how dinner went the other night? I wanted to be there."

Han shrugged callously.

"Wasn't a disaster," he said, a little unhelpfully. "I said something," he broke off, unwilling to finish that sentence. He scowled, and looked at Luke dubiously. "I said somethin' I'm still kickin' myself over," he said vaguely.

And he was – it didn't matter that Leia had admitted she made a mistake when she failed to mention marriage to her father, he was still struck by the look in her eyes when she lamented not being the one to tell him – he was frustrated with her for the things she kept from Bail, and he had let his fury at himself and his fury at the things he couldn't help her with overwhelm him and sting her this morning.

Luke shifted, and leaned forward. He made a careful gesture with his hand, and Han twitched his shoulder at him, eyeing him suspiciously – it wasn't much, just a brief sense of calm, cooling some of the hotly coiled pressure trapped in Han's veins and plaguing his thoughts.

Han's jaw relaxed, and he ran a hand through his hair.

"She and her old man are getting along," he said finally.

"And you and her old man?" Luke asked, using Hans' words.

A thin smirk appeared on Han's face.

"He's not there yet," Han said, his intuition sharp.

Han got the sense that Bail didn't hate him, and Bail even had a small amount of respect for him, that stemmed directly from knowing he had Leia's favor, but they didn't really know each other – and Bail had not yet wholly adjusted to his daughter as she was now, and that meant a continued wariness of Han.

Luke sighed thoughtfully, leaning back. He held up the amulet in his hand and looked at it – curiously, thoughtfully, with admiration, and cautious respect. Han watched him, and then turned away, leaning over the ship's console, clenching and unclenching his jaw – he didn't know what Leia needed; he didn't know what she wanted, not when it came to this.

He suddenly slammed his fist on the side of the chair, and then leaned forward, elbows mashing into the controls, face in his hands.

He'd left, and her nightmares got worse; he'd brought back things that shook her up – he put more stress on her shoulders when he didn't connect with Bail, and he sent her to work this morning angry at him, after an unresolved fight.

 _I don't know what you need from me, Princess!_

 _Leave me alone,_ was her nasty response.

He felt Luke's hand on his shoulder, though this time the kid provided him no touch of mystical comfort.

"Han?" Luke ventured quietly. "Leia's going to be alright. She's a survivor."

Han drew his hand over his face sharply and stared straight ahead. It just – it hadn't been this bad in a while. Her struggle was renewed, as fresh as it was after Endor; these were wounds ripped open fresh; every new piece of information, ever piece of her past juxtaposed with the present was salt on raw skin.

He felt an irrational surge of fury at Bail Organa for surviving and demolishing the equilibrium she'd reached, and he felt misplaced rage at Luke for having been able to find peace with it when Leia had been through too much to get there.

After a moment, Han nodded – she was a survivor, and he'd feel better when he went home tonight and let her know he was there for her.

"You're as tired as she is," Luke said flatly, his hand still on Han's shoulder. "Look, I've been planning one of my – quests, as she calls them," he said. "I want to go excavate some ruins on Polis Massa, and try to unearth anything I can in Naboo's old political libraries," he explained quietly.

Han nodded shortly, still looking straight ahead – he remembered both places easily, from Leia's story of her past.

"I'm not going to go until Leia's sleeping a little better," he offered.

He didn't intend to go until there had been a little more time for Bail and Han to get into the swing of being on the same planet, and interacting regularly.

Han finally turned to him, pulled out of his staring contest with the viewport.

"Kid," he said tiredly, "don't go bothering her with this stuff," he warned. "She doesn't want anything to do with it. She never has."

There was no malice in his tone; he knew Luke was concerned, he knew Luke could probably help Leia if she wanted it – but he meant it. He didn't know exactly where she was in her head when it came to coping with this, but he could sense she was too volatile for Luke's quiet and calm acceptance. If Luke kept pressuring her, there was always a chance she'd grow more and more hostile; Han was painfully familiar with her vicious reaction to being told she wasn't doing okay.

Luke nodded, stepping back. He watched Han for a moment, a troubled frown on his face, and then he turned to pick up the satchel, winding the amulet around his fingers. He withdrew to leave Han alone with his mechanics, and when he left, Han's head was back in his hands again.

* * *

Leia had always been the kind of woman who was inexplicably fortified by anger – it was anger, and a sense of outrage at the sheer injustice of her treatment – that had solidified her resolve on the Death Star. Luke would likely call it a dangerous line to walk, but Leia's ability to harness anger and calm it into composure had nothing to do with the Force and everything to do with a life sculpted by politics.

It had everything to do with years of being told that the angrier one got at a diplomatic adversary, the calmer and more resolved one must appear – not only because calm resolve was more efficient, but because failing to be provoked often disarmed the opponent so effectively that they cracked.

It was a trait Leia was grateful for throughout the day, as her simmering resentment towards the morning manifested itself in mind-numbing efficacy, and she got more done – and was more commanding – than she had been since her father had set foot back in her life.

This sort of compartmentalizing also served to result in her irritation slowly ebbing, leveling out – until she could identify that she wasn't angry at Han for throwing a fit over some spilled kaffe, and she wasn't even angry at him for inadvertently making her feel like a burden – more than anything, she was angry at herself, because flashing in his eyes this morning, behind everything, she'd seen again that fear that he was going to lose her. She kept thinking of that, and it left a physical ache somewhere in her chest, because she new how much she meant to him, and she'd still provoked him and taken below-the-belt shots at his strength and his loyalty.

She had no doubt that Han would be there for her if she needed him; she knew when he confronted her about the journal and – the sleeplessness – he wasn't being selfish, he was desperate to help her and she knew – she _knew_ – that there was only so much he could do.

Han could love her, and be at her side relentlessly, and make her laugh, and tease her – he could be her constant, and her rock, and her confidant, but he could not erase Tarkin, he could not change history, and he could not disentangle Vader's DNA from hers.

He was a comfort, not a cure – she didn't expect him to do any of those things, and she had always known the value of being able to stand alone, and not just as an extension of another person, but fighting with Han this morning had only put into stark perspective how much she really did need to – confront this.

 _Read the damn thing or let me give it to Luke!_

She didn't want to read it; she didn't want to hand it over – and Han's frustration had boiled over, while he dealt with the double stress of worrying about her state of mind, and trying to create a zone of peace with her father.

 _You're a grown man - it's spilled kaffe, get over it._

 _Leia, we aren't fighting about the fucking kaffe anymore!_

Leia leaned forward and rubbed her temples, her eyes down on her desk – the day was fading into dusk, and the pale violet rays of the sun were flooding through the window behind her, shimmering around her shoulders, bouncing off the cracked and dusty datapad she stared at.

Han was the one who had told her that deep down, somewhere, she was desperate for something to soothe the singed and burned parts of her soul that the knowledge of Vader had injured.

Her nightmares since she had sat down with her father and listened to his tragic tale had taken on a specific theme – Tarkin faded in and out, torture, and Alderaan faded in and out, old, familiar – but Vader and Bail featured prominently – and then there was Luke, the trials of his past flashing in her eyes –

Leia sat back a little, running her palms over the datapad.

She thought something might have broken inside of her – something that wasn't already broken or bruised, that is – when she learned about Padmé, a woman who she knew must have been a force to be reckoned with, a bright light in a darkening world - she wanted to know this woman, but that meant knowing the man she'd loved, and for so long Leia had renounced the very thought of a Vader who had once been a Jedi hero.

Her days were occupied with New Republic duties and the peculiar navigation of her personal life, her relationship with her father, her relationship with Han, their barely-there relationship with each other – and her nights were plagued with reminders of everything bad that had ever happened to her.

"Princess Leia?"

The query came with a gentle knock on her open office door, and Leia looked up, her expression utterly composed and pleasant.

She blinked, and straightened – and her face gave no indication that her heart had just slammed against her chest.

"Pooja," she said – her voice was so level that only those closes to her would have detected wariness in it _; Han_ , she thought, _Han would have picked it up immediately._

The other woman beamed at her, her arms full with a ceremonial robe and three or four dimly glowing documents - she hovered in the doorway, waiting, and Leia roused herself, rising out of her chair and beckoned.

"Come in," she said, remembering herself. "Come in – I'm not busy," she said, keeping her voice breezy.

Pooja Naberrie beamed and entered the office, nudging the door shut a little. Her smile was light, amiable, and Leia looked at her intently, studying her face – she'd known Pooja since they were teenagers, since Pooja was a quiet voice in the senate with a frustrating lack of willingness to draw attention to herself – and now Leia knew why.

 _Pooja_ , she thought, even the thoughts in her head sounding hoarse, and shaky. _You knew her – did you know him?_

"I won't keep you," Pooja said politely. "I know it's late – well, it's getting to the off hours," she amended, "our work is never really done, is it?"

Leia sighed a little, breathing out through her lips loudly.

"No," she agreed.

"At any rate, this is," Pooja struggled with her armful for a moment, and then lifted the document on top, smiling broadly. "The new trade agreement and treaty ratification between Naboo and Cato Nemoidia," she announced, "solidified today."

Leia beamed, a sense of relief striking her – that was one more thing taken care of; one more thing she'd seen to successfully – if her personal life was experiencing its hurdles, her professional life was not.

She came around her desk, taking some of Pooja's things.

"Set these down a moment," she murmured, and laid the documents on her desk neatly on top of the ceremonial cloak. She leaned on the edge of her desk conversationally, facing the other woman – they were close in age, though Leia remembered thinking, with an arrogance she now regretted, that she'd always seemed older than Pooja.

"Your mediation was so invaluable," Pooja said energetically, clasping her hands. "I saw you were still here and I wanted to give my thanks again – the Queen is delighted," she said, and Leia's lashes quivered at the mention of the office Padmé Naberrie had held, "and I can return to Naboo for a spell," Pooja finished fondly.

Leia inclined her head demurely.

"I was more than happy to see to it," she said. "Grudges held for twenty or so years are hard to bury."

"I wasn't even born during the original invasion," Pooja said faintly.

Leia watched her sharply, but Pooja said nothing else, and Leia wondered – for how long had this woman been trained not to dare mention Padmé's name?

"Anyway," Pooja went on pleasantly. "I've always – your work has always been…inspiring," Pooja said. "Phenomenal," she went on. "I'm sorry the Media constantly used your public involvement in our dispute to harass you about General Solo but," she gestured at the document, "we have an agreement."

"And I believe the public got some entertainment out of it, to boot," Leia said wryly, acknowledging the mention of Han. She folded her arms, and smiled carefully again at Pooja.

Pooja nodded, and offered her kind, lovely smile again, inclining her head and reaching forward for her things. She gathered them, and sighed tiredly.

"As I said, I didn't mean to stay long – I do hope things are going well for you, Princess Leia," she said sincerely, and Leia smiled at her again – they hadn't been very close, back in their Galactic Senate days, Leia had harbored a disdain for those whom she knew disliked the Empire but would not buck its power – and now she understood.

"Ooh," Pooja sucked in her breath as she cast her robe over her shoulder. "Tsk," she clicked her tongue, "that datapad is a mess," she remarked, nodding at the one on Leia's desk – _Shmi's_ – and smirking. "I hope all of our state secrets aren't on that one?"

Leia's lips turned up slightly, faintly, but she said nothing to the joke, and Pooja inclined her head respectfully, heading for the door again – Leia noticed she had the habit of walking back three full steps before she turned her back, a trait often ingrained in people familiar with royal customs.

The moment she turned her back, Leia knew she couldn't stop herself – Pooja's appearance just seemed too – coincidental, too –

"Pooja," she said mildly, unfolding her arms and placing them behind her, gripping her desk as she leaned against it. The words came out before she could really get a grip on herself, before she had even planned where this conversation would go. "Did you know someone named Anakin Skywalker?"

Pooja looked taken aback for a moment – she blinked at Leia like she'd seen a ghost, she looked wary, and Leia sensed she was remembering childhood lessons – she even – she swore she heard a whisper of panic from Pooja's mind – _don't mention Aunt Padmé, darling_ –

Then – Pooja smiled fondly, her shoulders relaxing.

"Ani?" she asked. "Sure, the Jedi," she remembered, her voice soft, and thoughtful. "I always wondered if he was somehow related to Luke," she noted.

Leia stared at her, still caught up in the affectionate nickname, in the sweet tone of voice. It was clear there were not dark memories of the man, not for Pooja – her dark eyes flicked with nostalgia, and Leia wondered – _are those Padmé's eyes?_

"I never knew if Skywalker was a common name," Pooja was saying. "The galaxy's a big place."

Leia blinked, and without thinking, she said –

"He was his father."

Pooja tilted her head, her brows lifting. She looked uncertain for a moment, and Leia suddenly felt like her breath had been snatched as she looked back at Pooja Naberrie, because the other woman couldn't be faulted for her next words –

"Wouldn't that make him your father, as well?"

The question was confused, uncertain – and Pooja looked like the statement itself was absurd. She shook her head quickly, though, and gave Leia a pleading look.

"I apologize – you must consider the Viceroy your father, and I didn't mean to offend," she broke off as Leia shook her head.

"Yes, to me, Bail Organa is my father," Leia allowed, though she didn't – backtrack on what was lingering in the air.

She swallowed tensely, her face devoid of emotion but for a thin layer of practiced unconcern.

"What do you remember about him?" Leia asked.

Pooja shifted her hands, and tilted her head, thinking.

"Well, Ryoo had a crush on him," she said slowly. "My sister," she clarified. "He used to carry me around on his back," she said, and then she sighed. "And my mother always said he was in love with Mé-Mé."

Pooja blinked, and then shook her head slightly.

"I mean – that's Padmé Amidala, my Aunt Mé-Mé," she said. "We always called her that anyway, but after the Empire – "

"She was blacklisted," Leia supplied quietly.

"Yes," Pooja agreed.

She swallowed, her brow furrowing.

"Princess Leia," she began hesitantly. "Mé-Mé was pregnant when she died."

She said it like she didn't believe it suddenly, but she also said it like she was breaking news gently to Leia – as if she were apologetically informing her this fallen Naberrie queen was not Luke's mother.

Leia didn't say anything for a long moment.

"How did your aunt die?" she asked, aching to know what these little girls had been told.

 _Cousins_ , her heart whispered. _Your blood._ _Your family._

"The same way everyone died back then," Pooja said, her face hard suddenly, "the Imperial Flu."

The moniker was so eerie, Leia almost laughed, and Pooja gave her somewhat of a grim smile.

"That's what my grandfather called it," Pooja said flatly. "Anyone who died mysteriously after – standing up for democracy – had caught the Imperial Flu."

Leia's next question was hesitant, but fluid:

"What happened to Anakin Skywalker?"

Pooja lifted one shoulder, her expression sad for a moment.

"He must have died in the Jedi Purges," she said gently. "I never saw him again. He had to have died – because – well," she sighed, "I know I was little, but I know how much he cared about my family, and he never would have missed Mé-Mé's funeral if he'd been alive. He'd have been there. And he'd have put me on his shoulders."

Leia looked at her – it took every bit of strength in her body to keep her expression mildly thoughtful and neutral, but each quiet word of Pooja's was like a bullet to the ribs – Pooja, who as a child had thought so much of Anakin Skywalker, that she missed his comfort at her aunt's funeral.

Pooja's face was all innocence and honesty – no agenda, no reason for her to be lying; no one could have possibly told her to remember Anakin Skywalker this way. These memories were real, and the man this woman was thinking of was so clearly also the sort of man who Padmé Amidala could have fallen in love with.

The silence screamed in Leia's ears, and she thought: _I can't sort any of this out without Luke._

She was careful with her next words, controlled and gentle –

"Commander Skywalker," she began. "My brother," she amended, "is planning to visit your home world in search of Jedi and Sith lore," she explained. "If you have the time, I wondered if you might be his host." Leia paused for a moment, knowing in her heart that Luke would relish this closeness, the chance to befriend a family member, even if she asked him not to blow the lid off everything yet. "I don't mean this to be a political favor, but a personal one – if you could give him a tour of your planetary history archives."

Pooja nodded slowly, her face thoughtful.

"I have to warn you – or you should warn him," she said honestly, "that so much was purged. Emperor Palpatine," a dark shadow, a shiver of shame came over Pooja's face – the blackness that fell over all of the Naboo when they referenced him, the guilt they felt for being his birthplace, "he eradicated everything except what he wanted known."

"Luke will find a way," Leia murmured. "He'll uncover something, somewhere," she went on wryly – and her thoughts lingered on that shudder that had passed through Pooja, because she related to it; she felt it when she heard Vader's name, and she thought of Alderaan, and she thought of how her name was one bestowed on her from an extinct planet, but her blood was given to her by the man who oversaw its destruction.

"Pooja," Leia said mildly. "I'd appreciate it if this conversation could remain between us."

Pooja gave her a fleeting, grim smile.

"Easy enough, Your Highness," she said, "I learned to be silent almost as soon as I could speak in full sentences."

The Imperial noose had always lingered around her family; gag orders and terror had ruled her roost since the Old Republic had fallen.

Pooja nodded with finality. She inclined her head, and seemed to sense there was nothing else. She turned to go, and then paused, and looked back – Leia lifted her chin, eyebrows rising slightly, wordlessly asking what Pooja wanted to say. Pooja seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, and then she looked down, her brow furrowing.

"You're _like_ her," she said, when she looked back up.

Leia compressed her lips tightly, to keep them from shaking.

"My aunt, I mean," Pooja said, taking a deep breath, and seeming to shake herself out of a reverie. "You used to speak in the Senate, and I would think – _Princess Leia says everything I'm terrified to say._ Padmé would have done that. She _did_ do that."

Pooja sighed, and shook her head, looking at Leia with quiet interest.

"It's a damn good thing the Empire never beat you," she said. "Where would we all be?"

She flashed a wry smile at Leia, and then inclined her head, taking a few respectful steps back, again, before she slept out of the office, and Leia was left staring at the spot she'd been for quite a long moment after she was gone, thinking of those words – where indeed, if years and years ago, a man named Anakin Skywalker hadn't broken his vows, and created two people who would be at the heart of the revolution that brought him down.

Leia swallowed hard, and turned her head over her shoulder, looking at the journal. She reached up and pushed her hair back, running her hand through it, tangling it around the tips of her fingers as she let exhaustion, and stress, and uncertainty wash through her.

She closed her eyes, hand in her hair – if Bail Organa had never proverbially risen from the dead, she may have gone on as she was, locking this away, never facing it, brutally conditioned to having no answers – but her father had unraveled the mystery, and the frayed threads tangled, loose and at war, in her head – she needed focus, she needed a way to confront it: she needed to understand how she could reconcile all these things in her life that had made her question everything she thought she was, and everything she thought she knew.

She released her hair from her grip, and reached for her personal comlink. Her movements were steady; it was only her lashes that quivered imperceptibly as she raised her brother on it.

"Luke," she said calmly, without preamble, the moment he answered. "I want you to take me to the Jedi Temple."

* * *

 _I want you to take me to the Jedi Temple._

He thought he'd never hear a request such as this from Leia.

He'd become convinced her reluctance was permanent, unshakeable; he thought his hope that she'd come around was futile – and even now, standing in the ruined room he most often meditated in, with her by his side, he wasn't sure he believed it; he felt on edge, wary of asking what had prompted it. It felt eerie that the same day Han had ordered him not to hassle her, she had reached out.

Leia's gaze around the room was somber, careful – and her first words, since he'd parked the speeder and showed her the way through the rubble, were neutral –

"It reminds me of Yavin," she remarked quietly.

Instead of the aging, scuffed stone, weathered by time, abandoned by a primitive culture, instead of red clay and vines, this temple was all tarnished metal and frayed, tangled wires, sadly beautiful in its decay.

"I think it was vast, in its heyday," Luke ventured reverently. He looked up, following Leia's gaze around the room. "There's so much that's been buried and destroyed, but I need time, and a team to excavate and study," he paused, sighing, and fell silent.

Leia prowled the room slowly, her eyes on ruined electronic consoles, remnants of a once-thriving center of activity.

"It's a whole culture that was destroyed, a way of life," Luke murmured. He clasped his hands behind his back.

Leia stopped, her eyes fixed on the ground, then on the gutted ceiling above them, and then on Luke.

"I know the feeling," she said. "You want to salvage it," she said – it wasn't a question; she knew what Luke's goals were – his devotion to his training, this way of life he'd chosen –

"It's my calling to salvage it," he said earnestly, his voice low, "to restore the Jedi Order, and its honor."

"It had to have collapsed for a reason," Leia assessed thoughtfully, her eyes unreadable. "Corruption, infighting, these impossible, inhuman requirements Father spoke of," she noted.

She thought of children ripped from their homes, from their parents, and raised to be servants to the living Force, sworn to protect justice, and peace, while being prevented from enjoying the things that made life worth living: love, companionship – family.

Luke nodded.

"The same could be said for the collapse of the Old Republic," he said wisely. "Corruption, infighting – a loss of faith in each other."

Leia turned to him and faced him intently, folding her arms in front of her. He hesitated, and then posed the question, with sincerity, but a wariness of making her change her mind.

"What brought you here?" he asked. "What…convinced you?"

Leia's lips pursed.

"Desperation," she said dryly, her tone so indecipherable that he couldn't tell if it was a joke or a serious confession. Her lips turned up slightly a moment after she said it, and then she swallowed hard, and he noticed her fingertips dug into her arms as if she were comforting herself.

She drew in a sharp breath.

"I spoke with Pooja Naberrie today," she said – and her voice was harsh only because it was so finely controlled; Luke started at the name, his brows going up.

"Our mother's – " he began.

"Padmé's," she corrected without malice. She hesitated. "I have nothing against her, Luke, but I need to differentiate – Breha Organa was my mother."

Luke nodded, his lips pressed together, and Leia inclined her head.

"Padmé's niece," she confirmed. Luke opened his mouth immediately, but she just went on, steeling herself to deal with his flood of questions, his exuberant curiosity. "I asked her if she remembered Anakin Skywalker."

Several expressions darted over Luke's face – interest, excitement, disbelief; he couldn't believe Leia had spoken of Anakin Skywalker to someone outside her inner circle, a Naberrie, no less, and he ached to know what she had heard.

"And?" he asked.

"And," Leia repeated, loosening her arms lightly, running her palms over her elbows. "She did." She paused only for a moment, for the spare few seconds it took to blink, before she went on: "She remembered him with nothing but fondness."

There was a hard edge to Leia's tone, and Luke ran his hand over his face, stopping to rub his jaw, his shoulders relaxing for a moment.

"Does she know – " Luke started, his words hushed.

"No," Leia answered, with a small shake of her head. "She thinks he died in the purges."

Luke nodded, clenching his teeth, and Leia stepped forward, looking down at her feet for a moment – she still wore the day's official dress, a neat blue gown, leather sandals that wrapped over her feet and up her ankles.

"She talked about him like he was any young girl's hero, Luke," she said hoarsely. She looked up through her lashes, her gaze alternately critical and curious, her jaw tight. "Father says – he was revered, until he wasn't, and you," she paused for a beat, "you _forgive_ him."

Luke stiffened warily, hesitant.

"I was there when he renounced the Dark Side," he reminded her. "I saw the face behind the mask, and all the good that had been buried, strangled, choked – starved."

Leia licked her lips slowly, her next words hushed –

"I never saw that," she said coldly. "I saw him watch the destruction of my world without a flinch. He was never anything but a horror, to me."

"I know," Luke said tightly. "I've seen it."

"My nightmares," she breathed tiredly.

Luke's expression was strained, heartfelt –

"I didn't go through the things you did," he said. "He didn't torture me, or pick through my memories – and I know he was complicit in," Luke struggled briefly, "Tarkin's actions, too – I know my experiences with him weren't the same, but I had my time of darkness over this."

Leia saw his hand twitch out of the corner of her eye and she reached for it, turning the prosthetic over in her hand, running her fingers over his palm in a quiet study. Her hand stilled, and she squeezed his fingers tightly, knowing he could feel it despite the synthetic nerves and delicate mimicry of real muscle.

"What are you looking for, Leia?" Luke asked intently.

She curled his fingers up, clasping her hands over them.

" _Respite_ ," she said hoarsely, barely above a whisper.

She gasped quietly, and then looked up, her eyes shimmering, full of tears that looked utterly painful to hold back.

"Han's right," she told him in a small voice. "I need help."

She swallowed hard – and it wasn't a therapist she needed, a stranger; she couldn't lay the secrets of her blood before a faceless professional who would keep records, records that might be breached – she needed someone who understood – Luke was her brother, one of her closest friends, and he'd been there – perhaps not in places as dark as her, but he knew what this was like. He had this power.

Luke gave her a searching look.

"You fought with him this morning," he stated.

Leia let out her breath heavily.

"He's tired," she said. "He's stressed – and he's worried."

She swallowed hard, her lashes quivering.

"I've been as much of the problem as he has, or Father, or you," she confessed softly. "I've been hurting so much."

Luke nodded – he understood; he'd been there. He turned his hand in hers, and cleared his throat, stepping closer.

"Does Han know you're here?" he asked.

She shook her head, closing her eyes a moment.

"Sit down," Luke instructed, and he did so himself, loosening his grip on her hand so he didn't yank her with him.

She followed suit, and when he crossed his legs, she did as well, the skirt of her gown pooling strategically in front of her. Luke ran his palms over his legs, his shoulders back, and she lifted her head, watching him, her jaw tightening.

"Your mental distress is tied to trauma that's making you question who you are – it's making you scared of who you are," he said calmly.

Leia's face was stony, but she listened, her muscles tightening.

"This was hard enough when Vader was nothing but a monster – "

" _Nothing_?" she hissed – as if he had been a mere irritation, a small threat.

"Leia," Luke said, still calm, but a little firmer. "You came to me. Listen."

She quieted, and he went on:

"Your revulsion regarding Darth Vader was – _is_ – valid, and justified; he was an inhuman thing, and it was terrible, but it was definable – he was bad, and you rejected him," Luke listed.

His eyes drooped slightly, fixing on her gently.

"You learned that he once earned the love of an admirable woman, one your own Father considered beyond reproach – you learned he was a slave, separated from his mother, unable to save her from a premature fate," Luke went on quietly. "You know that your cells are alive with the same connection to the living Force that his were alive with – that mine are alive with."

Luke fell silent a moment, looking at her critically.

"It's _that_ knowledge that has fractured the prison you constructed in your head to keep Vader isolated, to confine this truth to a hidden corner that you never had to confront – you hate him. He hurt you, he hurt everyone you love," Luke continued in that steady, probing voice, "you panic, because you don't want anything to do with him, but you want something to do with Padmé, with the Naberries - you desperately want the bliss of your old life back, but you can't have it – and somewhere, in here," Luke touched his hand to his chest, pressing against the bone, "you dread that you've inherited the darkness that turned him from hero to villain."

Leia clenched her teeth, her jaw tightening painfully – she closed her eyes, her mouth dry – she wanted to tell him – _yes_ , that all sounds right; _yes, I'm terrified of him_ , _I hate him,_ she wanted to add that there were just things she couldn't recover from, and she needed him to show her how to soothe those aches when they started to hurt, and she wanted to beg him to help her forgive her father – Bail Organa, her _father_ – because she needed him, and her logical mind didn't blame him, but in her subconscious she screamed and suffered at Vader's hands while he watched.

She couldn't speak – she only nodded, once, firmly, and then opened her eyes to look at Luke.

"I want to show you how the Force can enlighten you – it can provide the purest, inexplicable sense of understanding, and it can give you a sense of peace that transcends the things you thought would haunt you forever. It's not a cure, but it's medicinal – the past is fixed, but healing is always possible."

She parted her lips, struggling for something to say – it was so rare for her to be speechless, but this wasn't her realm.

"Give me your hands," Luke said, holding his out, palm up.

She didn't move, and he kept his hands where they were patiently, holding her gaze.

"I'm going to introduce you to meditation," he explained – and his voice was the collected, sage voice of a man endowed with wisdom she hadn't found yet; the timbre was comforting, as commanding and yet gentle as he'd been when he saved them from Jabba the Hutt's clutches.

Leia lifted her hands, and placed them in his so warily, so tentatively, that it was like his palms were on fire, and just the lightest touch would blister her.

"Do you feel anything in this place?" Luke ventured curiously.

She swallowed tightly.

"It hums," she said after a moment. "It feels – alive; like your apartment," she described.

Luke nodded.

"It's an increased presence of the Force," he said. He didn't make a move to actually hold her hands, but he nodded encouragingly at her, indicating he wanted her to grasp his.

She hesitated to do so, and he smiled, patient again.

"I want to show you how to unravel the chaos you feel when you have a nightmare, or you feel panic, or uncertainty, and not only challenge its power over you, but dampen its influence," Luke said – he sounded more scholarly now.

He looked at her firmly, his gaze sincere.

"I am not asking you to forgive Vader," he promised.

Leia's lips moved soundlessly before she finally said something:

"Luke," she murmured, "forgiveness can't be given unless it's asked for."

His eyes widened a little, and he considered that, nodding slowly.

"Let me warn you that my first meditations, my first intimate contact with the Force, produced visions," he told her honestly. "I saw myself becoming Vader – the consequences, Master Yoda told me, of acting rashly, of making the same mistakes – I saw you and Han on Bespin, and I abandoned my training and almost failed in my journey."

He lifted their hands a little, his palms still flat and unthreatening under hers.

"Even if it's difficult, remain passive if you see things that disturb you – the future is always in motion," he remarked – and a smile touched his lips, because he remembered when he was told that – and young, and impetuous, he'd ignored it, raging off into the sky to be a hero. "You may see things that are true, or things that will never come to pass, that are just a manifestation of your fears."

Leia's hands twitched; he thought she would draw them back, but she held them steady, though her cheeks turned pale. He sensed what she was concerned about, and he grimaced slightly.

"We have a familial connection I didn't have with Yoda or Ben," he warned. "I've seen your nightmares. This – my guiding you through meditation is more connected. I might see – "

"I can block you from anything I don't want you to see," Leia said hoarsely – she was here to address the dichotomy of Vader, to deconstruct her nightmares, but crashing into memories of Tarkin was inevitable – memories of Han, in Vader's hands on Bespin –

"Leia," Luke counseled softly, "you have to be careful of what kind of power you touch."

She looked at him warily, and then her gaze strengthened, and she turned her hands over, grasping his tightly. She gave a firm nod – and he took a deep breath, already attuned to his power, comfortable with it, at ease in its symbiotic embrace.

"Close your eyes," he advised, closing his as he gave the order.

He trusted that she did so, and he took another deep breath.

"You know what it takes to reach out to me through our connection," Luke said calmly. "Start there – and let your sensitivity connect with the sensitivity around you."

Leia's first steps were stumbling, hesitant, and wary, and Luke tried to quell his nerves, faithless, for a moment, in his ability to guide her as Yoda had guided him – her brushes with the Force in the past had teetered on the edge of darkness.

Her grip tightened, and Luke opened his eyes to watch her carefully, still committed to guiding her, poised to cut her off if it was too overwhelming for her – but struck, for the first time, by the sensation of Leia's full, vulnerable presence in the Force.

* * *

Her eyes were closed, and in the darkness, she was surrounded by thousands of faint, shimmering golden threads – sinewy lines of an intricate web, woven and braided all around her – the humming, the living humming that had softly sang to her in Luke's apartment was amplified, and if the firm grasp of Luke's hands hadn't anchored her subtly to reality, she might have forgotten where she was altogether.

She heard his voice in her ears, placid and instructive, and she could not discern if he had spoken aloud, or through their connection –

 _Stay at ease; trust the Force – ask for help; you will be shown peace._

Within the glittering golden darkness, she opened her eyes – though somehow, surreally, she knew her physical eyes remained closed – and she saw.

She saw the cool, metallic walls of a ship, heard the grinding, familiar noises of a mechanical behemoth hurtling through hyperspace at a breakneck speed that couldn't be felt – and she was standing, suddenly; she was just inside the web of the Force, she hadn't formulated a question, she hadn't sought a coherent answer, and yet she was witnessing something –

She saw a boy in the corner, and she knelt, her eyes roaming over sandy hair and a worn, beige tunic – blue eyes linked at her; he hugged his knees.

"Luke?" she asked.

Her words sounded ethereal, and the boy – the vision, or memory – it didn't hear her, instead, it whispered –

" _I'm cold."_

Leia knelt, her heart twisting, as if grabbed with a cold hand, and she reached out – her arm was covered in orange silk, words in a voice that wasn't hers came out of her mouth –

" _You're from a warm planet, Ani. It's cold in space."_

She sat back, retracting her arm sharply, violently, and she was standing, then, removed from the scene, watching a young woman in an orange hooded cloak wrap a blanket tightly around the boy's shoulders – _Not Luke. Anakin._

The woman though –

Leia did not glimpse her face; she was seeing another scene suddenly; she was watching this child surrounded by stern, regal men – humans and aliens, lightsabers hanging from their belts, authority figures who tested him, and tested him, and then told him it was a crime to miss his mother –

She turned her face away from the flash of annoyance, and indignation, on the young boy's face, and she found herself in her own body, looking into a mirror in her room in Aldera – fourteen or fifteen, maybe, brushing out her hair. Her father was standing behind her, energetically discussing a new political endeavor with her, and she laughed at him, in awe of him – she blinked and she was six years old, curled up in his lap in his office, tracing her fingers over the gold threads that linked her name to Bail and Breha Organa.

" _Does it matter that I'm adopted, Daddy?"_

He said no, and kissed her head

" _I begged for you, Lelila, I dreamed of you,"_ she heard her mother's voice whispering, _"No child was ever wanted as much as I wanted you."_

The light and colour of the scenes were swallowed for a moment, and she was back in the gold threads, her heart shivering – her mother's voice had sounded so real, and she relaxed, her grip on Luke's hands – was she still holding Luke's hands; was he still there? – slackening, and her nerves dispensing a little.

 _Mother_ , she thought. _Father._

The words triggered a bright glow, and she was on Alderaan again, but it was a scene she didn't recognized, she watched it as an outsider – she watched, her breath catching, as Queen Breha raged in the throne room, her gentle face flooded with tears, her hand pressed to her heart desperately.

" _I want her back, Bail! Tell them you'll give them the Queen of Alderaan in her place!"_ she screamed, her voice raw – and Leia watched her fall to the floor, her head in her hands, Bail kneeling next to her, promising –

Leia pulled back sharply from the scene, afraid she was seeing something intimate, but her teeth gritted against the overwhelming sense of love she drew from it – Mother and Father; Bail and Breha _; they loved you so dearly._ She felt, sharply, her mother's terror, her desperation. _I'm okay, Mother._

She squeezed Luke's hands, and she felt her lips trembling, she pressed them together –

 _You loved me so much father, yet you couldn't tell me –_

She was in her cell on the Death Star again – she was seeing it, not feeling it, watching as an observer; Vader pinned her to the wall by her neck, and then the image wavered, and she was seeing her nightmare, the one in which Bail watched, helpless, as she was tortured.

She lunged at her father, anxious, trying to get him to save the girl writhing in Vader's grasp, and Vader dropped her like she was nothing. She felt stinging in her ribs, like she'd been stabbed with something – Luke's voice burst into her mind – _ask for help; Leia._

She drew in her breath shakily – did the Force have the answers she was looking for?

 _Did my father_ _ **use**_ _me?_

The answer – the sensitive, humming threads that surrounded her, told her no – and she could barely control her next thoughts, unbidden, she demanded – _did my father **love** me?_

She was accosted with images, memories - Bail holding her hand, watching her learn to walk in a field of Molushkas near the palace; she saw him, tired and pale, as he stayed up with her all night – he and Breha both – soothing her when she was sick with measles – she saw evidence of his love in his eyes when an image of his face, scared and angry after she'd disobeyed him, assured her that everything he did was because he loved her.

Leia gasped, and squeezed Luke's hands.

 _Father –_

Her trance wavered, and her head spun, while her subconscious fought to demand insight into things she wasn't ready for, and she felt a nervousness rise inside of her, panic, anxiety, but it wasn't hers – she was calm, but gripped by those feelings –

An image burst into her head, of a young man with wild curls, lightsaber in hand, his eyes red, a cloak pulled over his head – and his face faded into the black mask she knew so well, her ears filled with breathing –

" _No, I am your father."_

Her fingers twisted, and Luke was holding them again, but her awareness was still fused in the Force, removed from the here and now – Vader's invisible hand was ripping through her head again, disdainfully picking apart cherished memories, coming up hard against the secrets she kept – she thrust him back in the vision as she'd thrust him back –

Stop.

Golden threads, golden threads – she reached for one with her mind, and it enveloped her in warmth – she felt calmed, she felt able to – to regain the memories he'd stolen; it was a matter of touching the Force, and banishing him, reclaiming control. When she thought of her sixteenth birthday, Vader wouldn't be there anymore; she erased his damage from the memory.

She was hypnotized, for a moment, in a soothing sense of calm – this was what Luke had talked about; she could fall into this meditation, this power, and touch the light, and align her horrors along threads to keep them from drowning her –

She hesitated, and she tentatively reached out to Luke - _I'm still here,_ he soothed.

Unbidden, thoughts of Luke's uncertainties tumbled into her mind, and she remembered his tears that night on the balcony, lost, wishing for the kind of family she'd had – she gently probed the emotions that she'd ruthlessly assaulted him with that night, and she was catapulted into different scene.

" _Father_ ," she said aloud, startled, standing next to him.

He looked through her, and his face was grim, his eyes red.

" _She's dying?"_

It was an unknown voice, and Leia turned – Luke was there, looking at her with wide eyes, both amazed and uncertain, present with her in the vision, and the man next to him - _Ben Kenobi_ – the answer hit her easily. It was he who had spoken the words, and as he shared a worn look with Bail Organa, both men looked into the room before them.

Luke put his palm on the glass. Leia's eyes fell on the woman's face – and she had an image to put with the devastation she felt emanating from Padmé Amidala. She lay there alone, stripped bare, hardly clinging to life, and Leia felt drained – she whirled away, and she stole the scene from Luke's hands, cloaking herself back in the gold threads for a moment – she held her eyes closed almost painfully –

 _Is this ever going to get better?_ she asked into the void – and she felt like the sun was in her eyes. She felt –

Her shoulders relaxed when she found herself looking at Han, staring at him from the safety of their bed, watching his shoulders rise and fall as he slept.

"Han?" she whispered.

He turned over and wrapped his arms around her, and she noticed that when he did, his fingers caught against her necklace, and if she was wearing it, then he'd married her, and all was well.

 _"I love you, Leia,"_ he mumbled sleepily. He rested his forehead against hers, and she brushed her fingers against his face. _"Sweetheart,"_ he murmured, kissing her fingers; the pet name made her feel safe, and warm, and confident.

 _He can be counted on,_ the Force seemed to murmur at her. _He won't falter._

Her throat constricted, and she blinked, and she was walking along a hallway that seemed endless, coming to a stop – she blinked and she saw herself pale and exhausted in what looked like a hospital bed, an IV in her arm – Han sitting next to her, bent over her, his cheek on her temple.

 _Luke_ , she thought, her heart racing, _Luke can you see this?_ _What is this?_

She blinked, and she saw Han sitting on a bench, his face hard and miserable, shoulders hunched in defeat – and there, next to him, was her Father, his arm on Han's shoulder, his expression grim. Momentary panic gripped her – _do I die?_

 _Leia!_ – Luke's voice was sharp. _Take it easy. Visions,_ his voice reminded her, _only visions - the future is not fixed._

She knelt before her father and Han in the vision, her jaw clenched- - but what was it an image of, what fearful manifestation.

She turned her head to the side, trying to look away – Han's pain was palpable in the image, his – _distress_ – that instantly translated into a visceral memory, and she was on Bespin again, struggling against Vader's grip, Han's screams blaring in her ears; she could feel the pain that burst under his skin and she cried out – Leia on Bespin had cried out, and that Leia's pleas reverberated in her head, but she didn't know if she was crying out now –

 _Peace, Leia_ , Luke soothed, from somewhere in the distance. _Peace._

Her hands shook, though, and she grasped at his – insecurity crept in, _fear – they ruined me; Vader ruined me, Tarkin ruined me –_

She was seized by the same urgency and madness of her nightmares, then, the golden threads gone, the Force vibrating grey and dull all around her, and then bursting with red – she could feel the cold, hard Death Star floor beneath her. She was pinned down, and her nails ripped through the flesh on a man's neck as she struggled to fight him off, Tarkin's lieutenant shoving his fist against one of her thighs – " _Bitch,"_ he snarled - she jammed her knee into his groin, but he was too strong for her.

Leia yanked herself out of that image, furious; she lashed out at the feeling of helplessness, and to her surprise, the scene melted blurrily, and then the scene went differently; the lieutenant's neck snapped, and she was struck with a perverse rush of pleasure, satisfaction – _yes;_ she thought violently; _don't **ever** put your hands on me again._

She thought of Han instead, and she could feel his weight on her, against her, bare skin on hers, lips against her ear - _"I'm not going to hurt you, Leia" -_ Bespin; _I know_ , she thought, _I know-I know-I know._ She winced, shying away from the memory - she didn't want Luke seeing it.

The vision faded, and she felt unstable for a moment – she felt overwhelmed by what she was dabbling in – it was too difficult to forgive –

Alderaan, shining and blue, peaceful and gorgeous, glimmered in front of her and then was obliterated, and the anguish and anger exploded inside of her – Vader's masked visage flashed in front of her, and Anakin's Skywalker's young, scared blue eyes peered out from it.

His face begged for his mother _– "The Jedi took me from my mother. She was all I had,"_ he whispered. _"They left her in shackles. They asked me not to love her, to care about her. Why couldn't I love my mother? Was I ever freed from slavery if I wasn't free to love?"_

Leia's teeth almost broke under the force of her clenched jaw, and she lunged at the image, the helpless boy conflated with black monster.

" _You took everything I loved!"_ she screamed.

Was the screaming in her head, was she screaming out loud?

The blue eyes turned red, inflamed, angry, swollen with unshed tears.

She had lost Luke – she couldn't feel his hands, couldn't sense him anymore; the peace she was probing, the cautious scenes she was viewing, that had been easing her suffering, were fading into a raw mix of nightmare and reality, and on some detached level she knew she had lost control of the meditation – she wasn't channeling the Force, she was being hunted by it.

 _Anger is a path to the dark side_ – the hum of the proverb was weak, fading.

 _No,_ she thought, _anger is a powerful tool if you harness it right._

She felt that rush of perverse pleasure again, and someone screamed –

 _Anakin, you're breaking my heart!_

Someone screamed, in her head –

 _Leia, STOP._

She heard Han's voice again, deep and soothing – _I love you._

 _I know_ , she thought desperately, _I want them all to hurt like I do._

Leia found herself in blackness and gold threads again, face to face with Vader, his face flickering between the boy and the mask, his eyes blue, and then empty and opaque. She reached out and ripped off the mask, and she saw into his head – it was a mire of black smoke, snakes and scorpions, the cold grasp of the Dark Side, and buried deep, a glimmer of light that was nearly doused by all the wrong choices and all the twisted malevolence of seductive dark power.

 _Being good only gets you hurt._

The words were Vader's, wheezing, defeated.

 _I want to be good,_ Leia thought.

 _Your wide-eyed innocence, your righteous fight, was the cataclysm that killed all your people._

Leia began to sob, mesmerized by the smoke of his mind – _what turned you into this?_

Harsh and loud, his voice echoed: _I chose it._

The words echoed in her head, and something sinister whispered to her - _What lengths would you go to, if you could save Alderaan, Leia?_

Leia reached up to the blackness as if she could yank it away, erase his bad choices, erase what he'd done; erase how he'd broken the galaxy and destroyed families and snapped and shattered her when she was just a young girl – she saw the trap even as she reached for it; the Dark Side was easy, seductive, the path to hell was a paved with good intentions – electricity glimmered at her fingertips.

Her nails brushed the smoke and snakes within his black mask –

She heard a noise like shattering glass screaming in her ears, and lost her breath, as if she'd been knocked backwards, punched in the gut –

The vibrating red of the Force flashed into serene gold threads, and then she crashed out of the vision –

* * *

\- with decisive action, Luke severed Leia's connection with the Force, drawing on all of his power to thrust her out of the astral realm and shield her from whatever had taken hold – he had not considered that his power would amplify hers and vice versa, and she was too untrained to face the lurking temptation of the Dark Side. He felt her resisting the pull, but he was acutely aware, suddenly, that this was too much too soon - he'd been too blindly eager; he should have started smaller than immersed meditation.

He had reacted aggressively when he felt the spark that flew from her hands to his, shaken to the core by the memory of the Emperor – he was well aware it was unintentional, but he lashed out to protect her, insulating her with the strong conviction of his own mental balance, and ending the meditation. He lost grip of her hands, and put a hand to his head, rubbing his temple – he opened his eyes to check on her – his heart felt like it was beating in rhythm with hers, and he knew she was scared, and shaken, and overwhelmed.

" _Leia_ ," he gasped, lunging forward.

She'd collapsed onto her back, unconscious – exhausted, and strained, possibly too burdened with what she'd seen – and he'd only seen flashes, only glimpsed emotions as he tried to guide her through.

He put his hand to her throat frantically, his fingers trembling, feeling for a pulse –

It was there, it was strong, and he breathed out harshly in relief, noticing only then that her nose was bleeding. He ran his hand under the back of her head gingerly, feeling for abrasions or a cut - he didn't know how hard she'd hit the floor. He clutched her shoulder and very gently shook her, wiping some of the blood away without a second thought - and to his relief, she came to, her expression glassy and disoriented.

"Leia?" he asked softly, hesitantly applying a gentle, calming touch of the Force.

She blocked him immediately, and she didn't answer him verbally; he heard her in his head - _Take me home._ He nodded earnestly, in complete understanding, and shifted forward to help her up, offering her the steady grip of his electronic hand. He was afraid, for a moment, that she wouldn't take it, that this had all gone so badly he'd forever damaged their relationship, and poisoned her to ever exploring this again - but she placed her shaking palm in his, and held on tightly.

* * *

 _if you thought Leia's vision experience was chaotic and hard to follow ... you were supposed to think that._

 _-alexandra_


	27. Twenty Six

_a/n: so much Han & Bail _

* * *

**_Twenty Six_**

* * *

Leia did not come home at her usual hour. Such an occurrence was not something Han immediately concerned himself with; she was often kept late at one office or another. When she also did not come home at the usual time she did when she worked _after_ hours, a sense of wary irritation settled over Han, and he dealt with it by completely dismantling something electronic.

He had a distinct, sneaking suspicion that she was deliberately avoiding coming home – because of their fight, no doubt – and because of that, he did not retreat back to the _Falcon_ ; he didn't want her to think he was hiding when she did come home. He wasn't worried that anything had happened to her; she was safe at the Senate, and safe at the Embassy, and even safe – physically – at the tribunals, but he was struggling with a growing sense of both guilt and annoyance.

They had both had the day to cool down – he was waiting and ready to be contrite; he wanted to reassure her that she didn't make his life difficult, she only made it better.

So, while he waited, and simmered in tense anticipation, he took apart a vintage, glitchy stereo he'd had on the _Falcon_ for ages and sat down to finally try and get it to work. Because the damn thing was so old and the machinery was outdated, it was painstaking work, and that was exactly what Han needed – and unlike the ship's kaffe-fried console, it didn't perpetually remind him that he and Leia had not left things well this morning.

Han was attempting to disentangle his hand from about six knotted wires without shocking himself – he wasn't sure how he'd trapped his hand quite so majestically – when the door chimes sounded, and he paused, narrowing his eyes at the door. The chimes started to fade in a gentle echo, and he frowned.

Unless Leia had decided to ascend to a level of passive-aggressive as of yet undiscovered, it definitely wasn't her.

He plucked at the wires with hydrospanners, disentangling them roughly, and then, in a risky move, used his teeth to yank them off his knuckles – he didn't get electrocuted, which was good, but it also indicated he'd gotten nowhere with configuring the wires correctly. He scowled and stood up, throwing the tools down amidst the innards of the stereo – he wasn't expecting anyone; was Leia?

Running his hands back through his hair carelessly, Han strode to the door and unlocked it, authorizing entry. He found himself face to face with Bail Organa, and he considered the older man for a moment, silently trying to decide if he was surprised or not.

There was no way Bail could have known whether or not Leia was here, so Han did not immediately think this was round two of an attempted ambush, but he was also at least somewhat bothered that Leia's father would show up unannounced regardless of the circumstances.

Han continued to look at him blankly for a minute, and then just stepped back and gestured for him to come in. As he palmed the door shut, the first words out of his mouth was the blunt announcement –

"Leia's not here."

"Oh?" Bail asked – and he sounded genuinely taken aback. He'd paused just inside the door, looking around, and then turned his gaze back on Han.

Han folded his arms, facing him, and shook his head in confirmation.

"Was she expecting you?" he asked shortly – he'd judge Bail's intentions based on his answer.

"No," the Viceroy answered. "I placed a call to her personal comm but received no answer," he explained. "I've been working late with Kell Tainer and I – well, she missed the Council meeting this evening, so I thought I'd fill her in."

Han arched a brow slightly.

"The re-settlement plans," he muttered – he knew that was what Kell had been stringently focused on lately; possible places for an Alderaanian colony, if not a completely new place to make their new haven.

Bail inclined his head in agreement, and Han frowned, his brow furrowing tightly.

"She missed a Council meeting?" he asked.

"Not without explanation," Bail said mildly. "She notified Carlist and myself and said something had come up," he paused, "though I did think she'd be home by this hour."

Han shook his head, lifted his shoulders tensely. He clenched his teeth, hardly about to tell the Viceroy that he and Leia had a fight this morning that just might be why she was lingering in one of her offices as a defense mechanism.

Instead, he remarked, a little bitterly:

"She works too hard."

Bail smiled a little, and Han cleared his throat.

"You want me to tell her you stopped by?" he asked neutrally. "Give her a message?"

"Would you be opposed to me waiting for her here?" Bail asked intently. "I don't think there's any harm in the two of us having a conversation without her."

Han's expression narrowed a little. He thought about it, his shoulders tightening, and then he shrugged, turning on his heel and beckoning vaguely for the Viceroy to come in and make himself comfortable.

"I don't care if you wait for her," he said bluntly, "but if it gets much later, I don't want you talkin' work with her when she walks in the door," he warned, "she needs to…relax," he finished, half under his breath.

Bail stopped and looked at the muddle of electronics on the table when they walked into the living room. Han sat down easily on the edge of the couch, focused on the disemboweled stereo again, and the Viceroy eyed it with fascination for a moment, remaining standing.

"Is that a Selonian model?" he asked.

Han glanced at him and nodded, picking up a circuitry board and squinting at it.

"I haven't seen one like that since I was a boy," Bail remarked, tilting his head. "Will that one work?" he ventured.

Han examined something on the board he was holding and then nudged it with his thumb and flicked it a couple of times. He shrugged.

"Maybe," he said. "When I'm finished with it." He scowled at the mess and narrowed his eyes. "If I can rig it right."

Bail nodded – his experience with mechanical engineering and electronics extended to picking up a comlink and calling a specialist to fix things, and here Leia's – _fiancé_ , Bail's inner self whispered – was blithely configuring vintage electronics for fun.

Han put down the circuit board and looked up, arching a brow dryly.

"You can sit down," he said glibly. He leaned forward a little. "You can even make yourself a drink," he suggested.

"You mean to say you won't be serving me one, as common host courtesy requires?" Bail retorted swiftly.

Han shrugged, and grinned a little.

"Hey, Viceroy, you're the one who didn't want Leia controlling the setting," he reminded him wryly. "Well, she keeps my courtesy in her pocket, and she's not here," he joked. "You know where the kitchen is."

Setting his jaw pointedly, he silently reminded Bail that he'd stayed here with significant familiarity while Han was off-planet, he'd made pancakes in the kitchen, and he was Leia's family – Han wasn't going to treat him like a foreign dignitary; if Bail wanted to skulk around and meet the authentic Han Solo, he was going to get exactly that.

Han was a little amused to see Bail smile slightly and stroll over to an armchair, taking a seat in a way that implied it might have been his usual seat during the days he stayed with Leia. Han eyed him with veiled interest, and then picked up a magnetized wrench and pulled the body of the stereo to him, setting back to it – he easily kept a subtle watch on Leia's father out of the corner of his eye, and because he knew it was only a matter of time, he waited for the Viceroy to speak.

"There's very little I actually know about you, General Solo," Bail said mildly, watching Han toy with the shell of the stereo. "Your representation in the Alliance dossiers barely scratches the surface, I'm sure."

Han shrugged.

"What you see is what you get."

"I doubt that," Bail said bluntly. "Humans are not one dimensional." Bail stretched his arms out on the chair he was in thoughtfully. "Leia didn't tell me very much about you, or your history," he went on, "she just talked about what you mean to her. But I can't form a relationship with you based on her emotions alone," he said astutely.

Han paused, and gave him a critical look, his expression guarded. He bit back a vaguely combative response that belittled Bail for speaking to him like he was some – illustrious, respectable suitor; instead he waited for the rest, and Bail's eyes narrowed just a bit sharply.

"I think you know as well as I do that we should strive for some kind of congenial rapport."

The sheer difference in speaking style that existed between the two of them illustrated how vastly different their backgrounds were, and Han's immediate reaction to the idea of being probed – interrogated, even – by Leia's father was the same as his knee-jerk reaction to anyone attempting to dig into him or his past: he wasn't interested in baring his soul.

He tried to loosen his jaw a little and swallow some of his reflexive irritation – he reminded himself that this wasn't altogether out of line; Bail wasn't being invasive, he was being relatively normal in wanting to know things. He looked at the Viceroy with an expression that apparently came off as somewhat icy, even hostile, because Bail's brow darkened a little.

"I think I have the right to get to know the man who will marry my only daughter," he added sharply.

Han's jaw relaxed only slightly, and almost without him noticing, at that – because Bail's phrasing implied certainty in that regard.

"If you do still intend to marry her," Bail remarked, and it very nearly sounded like a challenge – he knew how much pressure and stress Leia's position and responsibilities could put on a partner – his remark had nothing to do with Leia's psychological battle scars, because he barely understood them, but he had seen before the disasters that could result from socially mismatched marriages – resentment, insecurity, irreparable dichotomies.

Han gave Bail a dismissive look.

"I'm not easy to scare off," he muttered – a Hutt's bounty hadn't even really kept him away from Leia. He twisted off a few screws and cupped them in his hand, placing them in a controlled area on the table. "I am going to marry her," he asserted, and then paused to glance at Bail pointedly: "It'd be a damn weight off her shoulders if you'd be happy for her."

Bail leaned forward heavily.

"I am happy for her," he said wearily. "Leia's made her choice, and she's happy; far be it from me to destroy that." He arched his brows. "I still don't know you well at all," he pointed out, "as you once said yourself."

Han remembered – saying something of the sort to Bail when he'd first talked with him one on one, just after the Viceroy had very nearly accused him of exploiting Leia's vulnerabilities.

It was a fair point – and Bail had several fair points. Things were not going to get easier on Leia if the only thing that existed between himself and her father was a polite truce and a vow to be stiffly cordial with each other. There was no guarantee that Han would ever have the rapport with Bail that he had with Carlist Rieekan, but if he could at least ensure it was dissimilar to the tense relationship he had with Dodonna, that would be beneficial all around.

He steeled himself to do his part in this, thinking to himself that if Leia wasn't ready to come home yet, and he couldn't apologize to her right now, at least he could make this effort with her father – a tacit show of support in itself.

He cleared his throat, and looked with deliberate nonchalance back at the stereo he was working on.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

It was difficult to keep his defensive tone to a minimum – it didn't matter how accepting Bail set out to be, Han still sensed he was going to react a little roughly to hearing about the ragged background of the man who had ended up in his daughter's bed.

Bail sat back thoughtfully, satisfied with the progression.

"You're Corellian," he said, feeling out a place to start. "Were you born there?"

Han nodded.

"Coronet City," he said flatly.

"You spent your childhood there?"

One of the wires near Han sparked against his magnetic wrench and he separated the two quickly, blowing on the hot edge of the wrench. He frowned a little, and put down the object away from anything that might react with it again.

"Didn't have a childhood," he said bluntly, shrugging his shoulders. He set, and looked over, his arm hanging loosely over his knee as he halted his work for a moment. "She's already told you I grew up on the streets."

He didn't need Bail asking all sorts of conventional questions that just weren't applicable to his life experiences. He hadn't been raised, he'd fought his way with clenched fists to adulthood and stood his ground there. He'd had his fair share of young, wild, and reckless years, but he'd never felt like a carefree kid; it had always been in the back of his mind that he had to find some way to make money, somewhere to sleep – some way not to starve.

"She told me you never knew your father," Bail said.

Han shrugged again, and shook his head, confirming that.

"Did you know your mother?"

Han's jaw tightened considerably, and he picked up a circuitry board, examining it intently. He'd spoken about his mother only a handful of times to even less than a handful of people, and here was the Viceroy, brazenly demanding – _no_ , Han reminded himself tersely, _be fair to him –_ the Viceroy was trying to get to know Han the only way he knew how, the only way people in his sort of circles did: by talking about family.

"Yeah," Han answered finally. "She died when I was ten."

"Ah," Bail noted quietly, a small sympathetic grimace on his face – though Han didn't bother to look over and see it. "May I ask what she – "

"Smoke inhalation," Han muttered. "She was working in a mine when a fire broke out."

Bail looked apologetic, and shook his head.

"I was going to ask what she did – as a profession," he said hesitantly. "She was a miner?"

Han put down the circuitry board and rubbed his forehead, thinking of all the things his mother had done to try to keep him fed, and sheltered – to keep shoes on his feet; that had been so important to her – she'd always insisted he have nice, good shoes.

"She did what she had to," Han answered gruffly. "Mining work, textiles, laundry," he listed. "Mostly she worked in bars or cooked," he paused, and then set his teeth on edge, picking up the hydrospanners, "sometimes she resorted to extremes," he muttered.

Bail watched his profile as he bent forward, unsure what he meant.

"What sort of extremes?" he asked, curious.

Han glanced at him as if that were a stupid question, and Bail immediately wished he hadn't asked it – of course, it was obvious what he meant; Bail was more than aware of the dire circumstances some women, on some planets with less social welfare customs, were forced into. He knew his taken aback expression showed on his face before he could conceal it, and Han gave a bitter little smirk.

"Does Leia know?" Bail asked, fumbling in the awkward moment.

"That my mom had to turn tricks a couple of times?" Han asked, callously putting it in the open, if only to force Bail to deal with it. "Yeah, she knows." He put down the tools and looked over at her father sharply, his eyes narrow. "'Course she knows," he added, irritation suddenly flaring strong. "I've never pretended to be somethin' I'm not," he pointed out.

Bail nodded, holding up his hand – he had always used it as a gesture of peace, but Han interpreted it as condescending, and his brow furrowed abrasively. Bail, however, preempted him speaking again –

"I don't mean to insult or judge your mother," he said calmly. "There are infinite lengths mothers would go to in order to protect and provide for their children, and I won't belittle that."

Han's mouth tightened, but he remained silent.

"You've been with Leia long enough to know that in her position, things can get petty, and vile, and muddy," Bail said, "and I simply asked because … she should have full knowledge of everything in case she ever gets ambushed with it. Or in case someone sees fit to try and blackmail either of you."

"It won't come up," Han said tersely. "She's been dead for more'n twenty years, and no one cares enough about her to dig it up." He gave the Viceroy a cursory look. "It doesn't matter to Leia," he added.

Bail nodded.

"I wouldn't expect it to," he said quietly. He cleared his throat. "There's no chance that your father might show up, now that your profile is so public?" he asked.

Han shook his head.

"Doubt it," he muttered. "I don't think he knew I existed."

"Is Solo a common name on Corellia, though? Might he – "

"Solo was my mother's name," Han interrupted shortly. He thrust down the pieces of the stereo in his hand, and frowned, leaning back on the sofa. "I always figured he must have been pretty useless if she didn't even want me to have his name."

Without thinking, Bail asked –

"Did she know who he was?"

Han gave him a cold look, and Bail winced, leaning forward, and holding out his palm in a placating way.

"I didn't mean to imply – "

"She wasn't a whore, Viceroy," Han said sharply. "She did that kind of thing occasionally, after me. To feed _me_."

"I simply – wonder at the secrecy," Bail said, apologetic and frustrated. "It goes back to the same idea – anything that might be considered, ah, sordid, or murky in your past – or Leia's – can be used against you, and in some parts of the galaxy, certain things are taboo – "

"You're a paranoid guy, aren't you?" Han broke in, arching a brow.

Did Bail really think Han's father – someone he'd never in his life seen – was going to come crawling out of the woodworks and start trying to exploit him, or blackmail Leia? Han was ashamed of nothing in his past; he was virtually impossible to blackmail, and the only things Leia might have wanted to keep private had been shouted to the press by a disgraced Grand Moff. Furthermore – Leia had already chosen to be with Han; she knew what she was getting into, and she was unlikely to flinch at attempts to tell her he wasn't good enough.

Bail sat straight, arching a brow pointedly.

"Of course I'm paranoid," he said, and Han tilted his head, slightly amused at that – it wasn't often people blithely admitted to a character trait such as that. "Surely you understand why I had to be – _have_ to be," he said simply.

Han blinked at him expectantly, and Bail lifted his hand, ticking down fingers as he spoke –

"I'm from a royal family – we're subject to constant threats even under normal circumstances," he said matter-of-factly, "I'm from a rich family – same problem," he went on, "and," he said, narrowing his eyes seriously, "I adopted the Force-sensitive daughter of Darth Vader and raised her right under his nose."

Bail gave Han a pointed look.

"Paranoia," he said, "was the cornerstone of my life for twenty years – keeping Leia's secret, from her, from Vader – it was the only lie I ever told my wife," he listed. "I knew one wrong step, one single thing could raise suspicions, and not only would my family pay for, it would result in disaster for Luke and Obi-Wan as well."

"And you," Han pointed out.

Bail shook his head.

"My era died with the Old Republic," he said tiredly. "I didn't care about myself – at least, not in a self-preservation sense. I needed to remain in power to protect Leia, but my prime was over the day I watched the Republic crumble."

Han arched his brows, studying the Viceroy intently for a moment.

"You shouldn't have kept it from her," he said finally, shaking his head a little. He leaned back, resting one of his palms on his knee tensely. "It's been _hell_ on her, Bail," he said, finally dropping the title.

"Tell me, how would you have had that conversation?" Bail demanded, his voice quieting a little. "The only way to ensure they were safe was to operate in absolute secrecy, and secrets are impossible to keep if many people know them," he said. "I couldn't tell her when she was a child, a little girl – Leia was a bright girl, and she was remarkably intelligent even at a young age, but she was still only a child, and children needn't be burdened with secrets that can destroy lives," he reasoned. "There was a time for the conversation – and I was going to have it. Perhaps I was also selfish – Leia is my daughter, and I didn't want to present her with another figure, especially one she was frightened of when she was young."

"You think she was frightened of him _then_?" Han asked sharply. He sat forward, and turned towards the Viceroy sharply. "He's nothing but charred metal and ashes now and she's still terrified."

"I know that," Bail snapped.

"No, you – "

"I may not know it the way you do, Han, but I understand that it was bad!" Bail interrupted shortly. His face paled considerable. "Ben Kenobi and I had a plan, to bring them – Luke and Leia – together, to have the conversation, to decide how to proceed – I didn't anticipate Leia being taken prisoner on that – _monstrosity_!" Bail's voice cracked as he went on – "You have to know that it kills me, knowing she got hurt. I'm not trying to diminish what she went through by making it about my guilt, but I failed her and it will haunt me for the rest of my life. You have to know that. If that's part of your resentment towards me – I deserve it."

He leaned back in the armchair, and held his palms up, defeated.

"Have at me."

Han frowned thoughtfully, and leaned back, turning his eyes back to the electronic mess on the table. He nodded once, sharply, and shrugged.

"I just wanted to hear you say that," he said, sitting forward and reaching for a circuitry board.

He felt Bail's eyes on him, incredulous, perhaps a little affronted, and he glanced over at him with an unreadable expression. Leia's father had a scowl threatening his visage – a scowl that seemed to grudgingly morph into a miniscule, grim smile.

"I made mistakes," Bail said, "but I was in an impossible situation."

Han nodded slowly – he couldn't begin to think what he'd do in that situation, and Bail – sensing that, apparently, called him on it:

"Don't you think it will be a difficult conversation to have with your children?"

Han grimaced – he didn't want to go anywhere near that topic with Leia's father, but the Viceroy made a hell of a point; Leia could barely discuss Vader. It was hard to imagine her ever wanting to have an open conversation about family history if they had children – but, it would be absurd, it would be colossal mistake, not to tell.

Han cleared his throat.

"Not a good topic," he said flatly – not good because he had barely scratched the surface of the children conversation with Leia, he wasn't sure of his own feelings or desires regarding that, and mentioning it brought up Malla's well-intentioned, yet ominous, questions about the possibility of it at all.

"I apologize," Bail said heavily. "That was – too invasive of me."

He thought of all the times he and Breha had faced questions about children – carefree, well-meaning, public questions, from people who had no idea that they had suffered disappointment after disappointment, and Breha's public face was a brave mask that hid how devastated she was over all the loss.

He had learned then that casual talk about such things could be inadvertently harmful, and noting Han's reaction, he was astute enough to guess that revelations about Leia's bloodline may have poisoned her against the idea.

He only hoped – if that was the case – that she could take her own self as an example, and know that it wasn't blood alone that determined a person's path; it was family, and education, and love –

Han was looking at the Viceroy intently, watching him think. He grit his teeth and looked back down to his project; Bail sighed, fumbling for another thread of conversation.

"What made you apply for the Imperial Academy?" he asked.

Han blew on some of the wires aggressively, disturbing dust in the cracks of the equipment.

"Three meals a day," he answered bluntly – and more than anything else, it was true; that had been it. For a street kid with some pretty impressive piloting skills and a sharp mind, the Academy was a fantasyland – steady food, pay, and a place to sleep.

Han shrugged.

"It wasn't political," he muttered. "I was never political."

"And now?" Bail asked. "You've been dragged into a political arena, so to speak," he said, "due to your association with Leia."

Han shook his head, grimacing.

"I hate politics," he declared flatly. "Talkin' in circles, covering up slime with polished conversation," he mocked. "It's dishonest."

"Ah, but a life of crime isn't?" Bail asked, a little bemused. "Smuggling drugs and operating illegal criminal organizations?"

Han sat back, and pointedly tapped the scar on his chin.

"It's more honest to break the law with conviction than to do all this underhanded, sly doublespeak politicians do," he said.

Bail arched his brow thoughtfully.

"You seem fairly disparaging of politicians, considering Leia's chosen career."

Han looked at him wryly.

"She started a revolution," he pointed out. "I'd call that breaking the law with conviction."

"And now that said revolution is legitimate? Isn't she back to being an average, slimy, no good politician?"

Han shrugged, tilting his head at Bail.

"No."

"She's not?" Bail asked, arching his brows in feigned interest. "Why is Leia different?"

Han shrugged again.

"Leia cares about people," he said simply. "Not power."

He punctuated the statement with a nod, and then put his feet up on the table, haphazardly shoving things out of the way to make room – he still had his boots on, and they'd probably make smudges on the surface.

"That's what you saw at the Academy, isn't it?" Bail asked grimly. "Power taken to brutal extremes."

Han's face fell into a dark grimace as he thought of the abuses he'd witnessed – not only against alien species, but against soldiers considered weak, subpar, and lacking – and he gave a curt nod. Power, he thought, wasn't worth shit when it was only wielded over weaker subjects. The Empire had led through oppression, fear, and threat – it inspired obedience, not loyalty.

"I always taught Leia that the value of a person can be determined in how they treat those who serve them," he said thoughtfully. He was quiet for a moment, and then he looked at Han with interest, nodding at his chin. "Where did you get that scar?" he asked mildly.

Han blinked, and then arched a brow. He thought about it a moment.

"Leia threw a glass bottle at me."

Bail looked horrified, and Han broke into a grin, shaking his head.

"She didn't," he corrected, laughing shortly. He gave Bail a look. "You got nerve, askin' about people's scars," he said, giving him a look that said he deserved the joke.

"You drew attention to it a moment ago! I thought it might be an interesting story," Bail grumbled. "I don't know your damn smuggler etiquette."

Han laughed in spite of himself. He ran his thumb over the scar and shrugged.

"It is," he said bluntly. "I did get it from a broken bottle," he said mildly. "First street fight, first time I got arrested," he said, and he gave Bail a bit of a smug look at the mention of his rap sheet – the Viceroy clearly tried not to react, and failed.

Han smirked.

"This guy my mom was seein' roughed her up," Han said, his voice taking on a cold edge, "so I went after him."

"I suppose I don't want to know how it turned out for him," Bail remarked.

Han snorted derisively.

"You kidding? I was just a punk kid, he kicked my ass," he said dryly. "Ten stitches, and he told the street police I tried to pick his pocket. Beginning of a beautiful friendship with the Coronet City police captain," he added smugly.

Bail blinked, soaking in the information.

"How old were you?"

"Eight," Han muttered, running his hand over his jaw.

Bail looked taken aback, and Han got ready to hear some derogatory comment about his delinquency, but the Viceroy instead said –

"And you attacked an adult? For your mother?" He raised his brows. "That's rather…brave."

"Nah, it was hard-headed," Han grunted. "I'd do it again," he added after a moment – for his mother, he'd have done anything in an instant, and more often than not, when he thought back to those days, and thought about her, he regretted what a hellion he'd been, if only because it was sometimes so hard on her.

"I can't believe a grown man matched his strength against a child," Bail said, affronted.

Han gave him a pointed look – of course he couldn't; Bail was from a regal world full of manners and respect and cordial communication; Han was from streets filled with cutthroat crime and the dirty, exhilarating struggle to survive amongst impossible odds. Different, different worlds.

"Ah, don't get bleedin' heart on me, Viceroy," Han said callously. "I was a tall kid," he joked wryly.

Bail smiled a little, but still looked concerned. He tilted his head, eyeing the stereo for a moment, and Han, emboldened by the trajectory of the conversation, goaded him a little, his expression filled with a little friendly mockery.

"You want to know my favorite colour?" he asked.

Bail gave him a withering look.

"I'm sure that would tell me so much about your character," he said, deadpan. "Enlighten me."

"Whatever Leia's wearing," Han retorted smugly.

Bail's look became even more withering. He rolled his eyes a little and sat back, turning his head and looking around the room a moment. He glanced over his shoulder at the closed balcony doors, and then turned back.

"Speaking of Leia," he began.

Han gave him a mild warning look.

"She's very tired," Bail said quietly – and he was astute enough to recognize it, even if his daughter was good at hiding it; he had, after all, raised her. He knew her very well, and exhaustion was easy to identify.

Han didn't say anything. He looked at Bail with an unreadable expression. Bail leaned forward heavily.

"She had…a very bad – nightmare, while I was here. While you were gone," he explained haltingly.

Han nodded guardedly.

"Yeah, she told me."

Bail blinked, apparently surprised, and Han felt nettled again for a moment –

"Why do you think she doesn't tell me stuff like that?" he challenged shortly.

"I," Bail started, and then rubbed his jaw. "I don't know. Because I don't think it through," he muttered, almost to himself. "Well, she said you can handle that," he went on, with a cautious attitude – he knew, and he also saw in Han's expression, that he was dangerously close to overstepping bounds.

It wasn't that he wanted to be invasive, or be a voyeur concerning Leia's trauma, he just – if he wasn't her protector anymore, as she said, and if he had to take a permanent step back in her life to make room for a different man with a different type of relationship with her, he wanted to know that man was worth his salt.

"Handle – what, her? The nightmares?" he muttered. "She's okay. It's a bad week."

Bail grimaced, to hear him talk that flippantly.

"It just seems – very – horrible," Bail started.

"Yeah, Viceroy, I know. I sleep with her," Han said bluntly.

Bail blinked at him harshly, and Han held up his hand.

"It's not new, got it?" he asked. "I'm used to it. She's used to it," he said, and then added bitterly, "at this point, it probably bothers you more than it bothers her."

He wasn't serious – there was no chance Bail would ever really feel how haunting Leia's nightmares could be, but the sentiment illustrated the situation well; Leia and Han were both accustomed to the ordeal, it was Bail who wasn't.

The Viceroy went silently, gloomily silent, and then he got up and disappeared into the kitchen. Han glanced after him, and then went back to the stereo when he heard him fixing himself a drink – and he didn't mind at all; he'd been serious when he told him he was free to do so.

Han glanced at the chronometer, taking the moment alone to wonder where the hell Leia was – another half an hour, and he'd try calling her – _Kriff, Leia, just come home, I'm sorry._

"I want to talk to you about this wedding," Bail said, his voice louder and more matter-of-fact as he came back into the room.

Han resisted a very sudden, immature urge to groan, and instead, just looked at Bail a little grudgingly.

"I thought she'd told you," he grumbled, a little defensively.

"Well, I think we can both agree that's Leia's fault," Bail said dryly. "What I mean is, you clearly abhor public events, but I'd like to – "

Bail was interrupted by a loud, frantic, slamming sound against the door, and he whipped his head around, alarmed. Han, a little slower to react because he was still warily preparing himself for Bail's speech – and because he was unaccustomed to so much activity in the apartment at night – shifted tensely, his brow furrowing.

"HAN!"

Luke's muffled voice bellowed through the door, and Han got up, perturbed.

"It's unlocked, kid," Han shouted, starting towards the hall.

Luke yelled something back, and Han rolled his eyes – but then again, he couldn't remember if Leia had given Luke the casual code, so he went towards the door, and wrenched it open, in time to hear Luke saying –

"—keypad isn't picking up Leia's fingerprints – Han!" Luke broke off, relieved.

Han stood in the door stiffly, blinking at the scene in front of him. He spared a glance for Luke – who winced at him, and managed to look both sheepish and earnest, and then he focused on Leia. She was standing there – still in her formal dress, hair still tied up – but she looked –

She was white as snow, she was leaning on Luke for support, and her – she reached up to touch her nose, and he noticed it was bleeding.

Luke grit his teeth at Han's silence, if only because he knew it was only a matter of mere seconds before –

" _What the hell happened?"_ Han exploded, finally reacting, taking no time to worry about his volume.

Luke took a step forward, and Leia limped – _limped_ – over the threshold. She put her hands on Hans' shoulders and dug her nails into him desperately. Luke released her, hurriedly turning to shut the door, and holding up his hands defensively.

"Han, don't – _please_ don't lose it," he started hastily, his face paling. "She's okay, she just – "

Han ignored him, touching Leia's face and tilting her head up. He caught her eye, running his palms over her cheek lightly, examining her nose – it didn't look broken, and she didn't - -the first thing that struck him was that she didn't _look_ like she'd been attacked; aside from the bloody nose, she looked like she did when she woke up from a night terror.

"She's _not_ okay," Han growled nastily, pulling her closer. "She's – what happened?" he demanded.

Leia fought his grip a little and pushed away from him, holding her wrist to her nose.

"Leia," he said, stepping forward and touching her shoulders. Her hand was shaking violently.

She closed her eyes and tried to take in a deep breath. She favored her ankle, and Han was gripped with a sense of panic as he looked at her – daunting thoughts occurred to him, like maybe she'd – maybe she'd done something to herself, because of him, because of –

"It's Leia?" Bail asked, stopping short in the hall. "What's happened? What's – _Leia_?"

Leia opened her eyes, taking another breath, and then made a face, her expression sour as she tasted blood in her mouth. The appearance of her father seemed to shock her into the present, and she blinked, her eyes sharpening for a moment, her fingers trembling near her mouth. She met Han's eyes with trepidation.

"What's he doing here?" she asked hoarsely.

Han ignored the question; he ignored Luke, he ignored Bail approaching. The initial confusion that had exploded through him when he tried to make sense of Luke standing there with a disarrayed Leia was fading by the second, and he was more focused on damage control. He slid his arm around her to get some weight off the ankle she was favoring, and he reached out to tilt her head up again, his heart racing. She put her head on his shoulder tiredly, and he sharply lifted his head, rounding on Luke.

"What the _fuck_ is going on, Luke – hey, Leia," he broke off.

She shifted away from his grip, wincing when she put weight on her foot. He reached for her again but she side-stepped him and darted past him for the kitchen. He spared Luke a murderous look, and went after her, impressed she could move that fast on what appeared to be a sprained ankle –

Bail followed her to the kitchen, too, and though he beat Han there, Han shouldered him out of the way carelessly. Leia had thrown herself over the sink and was getting sick, and Han's immediate reaction was to grab her hair, but when he found it still pulled back in braids, he rested his hand comfortingly on the back of her head. He swallowed hard, bracing his shoulders, and bent down closer for a moment, studying her face intently, trying to discern if she knew where she was.

"Leia," he said, very quietly, "it's Han."

She nodded once, and turned her head slightly, lurching forward again and coughing up the rest of what was in her stomach.

He turned his head and snapped at Bail with his free hand.

"Get me a glass," he ordered tensely.

Bail did so immediately, his expression grim, and Han ran the water from the sink, filling the glass with cold water. Bail came uncertainly up to Leia's other side, crowding her without meaning to. He reached out to touch her shoulder, and Han stuck his free hand out, smacking Bail's hand away without thinking twice about it.

"Don't touch her," he ordered harshly.

Han ran his hand over Leia's back and tried to give her the water, but she held up her hand shakily, moving her head from side to side stiffly. She put her hand to her nose and took a few deep breaths before finally taking the glass, and Han watched her take a cautious sip before turning, his eyes falling on Luke.

Luke held up his hands calmly.

"Han, no one attacked her," he said swiftly. "She's okay – "

"You and I have different versions of _okay_ ," Han snapped dangerously. "What. _Happened_?" he demanded.

Luke grimaced, and then took a deep breath.

"We were at the Jedi Temple," he started, and pushed forward quickly, as the look on Han's face darkened violently. "She – "

"Why were you fucking around in that place?" Han bellowed.

"We weren't _fucking_ around – I was teaching her to meditate, and – "

"You dragged her into some kind of Vader hellscape?" Han shouted. "She's _bleeding_ – what happened to her _foot_ – ?"

"I didn't drag – Han, listen to me; she was channeling a lot of power, and that's why her nose is bleeding. She twisted her ankle on a dais when I was trying to take her home – she's shaken up, I know, but I was helping her," Luke protested, his words coming out hurriedly, completely disjointed - and Han wasn't hearing them clearly anyway.

"I told you not to bother her," Han fired back in terrible voice. "You – _helping_? Goddamnit, Luke – you've got to learn that all you do is make it worse!"

Luke grit his teeth - in an instant, Han's face was full of the old suspicion of hokey religions. It wasn't just Han's skepticism of the Force that came raging back, dangerous and defensive; with it was a clear distrust of the unknown, an unchecked sort of witch-hunting anger. It was the sort of alarmed mistrust that drove people to ostracize and reject the unfamiliar, and Luke was desperate to reign it in - Han couldn't lose faith in the Force when Leia was starting to find it, it would be too unfair.

"She's not a plaything, you can't experiment on her and - and fuck with her head - "

" _Stop_ it, Han!" Luke shouted, cutting him off. His face stiffened, and he gave Han a steely, determined look. "You don't understand the Force; you don't understand what you're talking about," he snapped coolly. "She asked me for help. She _asked_ me. It wasn't supposed to be a bad experience, but she's barely getting started – "

"You expect me to believe Leia wanted to – "

"Han," Leia broke in.

Her voice was hoarse, but it was strong enough for him to hear it and stop shouting immediately. He turned to her, and she was leaning heavily against the sink with her eyes closed, holding the cold glass of water against her temple.

"Stop yelling at him," she told him quietly. "I asked him to take me," she confirmed.

Han swallowed hard, turning his back on Luke. He moved closer, and leaned down a little, searching her expression; he saw no indication of a lie, and he let out a harsh breath, his eyes drawn to her nose, her pale cheeks.

He felt Luke and Bail both watching him, Luke with some sort of quiet determination, and gentle worry, and Bail with something akin to shell-shock. Han didn't blame him – Leia looked bad; her composure was completely shattered, and she –

"Han," she said again, her lashes fluttering.

Han took the glass from her, resting his palms on either side of her neck. Leia twisted her fingers into his shirt shakily, stepping forward, pressing her face against it. She mumbled something softly, incoherently, and her shoulders shook violently like she'd started to cry.

"What?" he asked gruffly, quietly. He ran his thumb over her jaw. "I'm right here."

She nodded and lifted her head, her eyes open and her lashes heavy. She wiped furiously at her face with one hand, but even with her lips pressed tightly together, she wasn't able to hide the fact that she was crying. She looked warily over his shoulder – she didn't want them here, he picked up on that much, and immediately, he turned his head.

Han considered ordering them both to get out – but he stopped, the command stuck in his throat, vividly reminded of fighting in her office, weeks ago, when the Viceroy had walked in and tried to defend her from him. That incident had fractured things badly, and Han met Bail's eyes now harshly, waiting to see what he would do. He found himself faced with a worried but defiant expression – Bail wasn't going to leave unless he knew Leia was okay.

Han grappled with that for a moment. He tightened his jaw, and decided not to push the issue; let the Viceroy linger. His main concern right now had to be Leia. He gave both Luke and Bail a sharp, irritated look, and then turned back to Leia - if Leia didn't want an audience, he would quickly remove Leia from said audience.

"How bad is the ankle?" he asked.

Leia parted her lips and forced out a demurral - "It's not bad."

He rolled his eyes – of course it wasn't; Leia never admitted to injuries being _bad_. Endor - _it's not bad_ , in reference to nerve damage, tissue scarring, and a wound that nearly got infected while she tended to everyone else. He stepped back and took her arm, starting to guide her towards the hall. She stumbled slightly, and he grit his teeth, tightening his grip hard so she wouldn't fall. He slid arm around her shoulders and then picked her up easily, all her weight pulled off her feet and against his chest in one easy movement.

Leia's reaction was so typical of her that he felt an immense sense of _relief_ –

"Put me down, scoundrel," she ordered, mustering some indignation – but her head fell against his shoulder and she breathed out quietly in relief.

He gave Bail, and to some degree Luke, a hard, pointed look as he maneuvered past them.

"Leave or don't," he said bluntly, "but stay out of the way."

He spared a last glance for the Viceroy, just to grudgingly reassure him – he didn't particularly care about Bail's comfort or state of mind right now, but he recognized what a huge gesture it would be if he did reassured him – unspoken, he told Bail – _I've got her._

Bail nodded, and Han didn't give either of them another thought as he took Leia down the hall and slammed the bedroom door.

* * *

Leia had never liked Han carrying her – it had only happened twice before, and once, she'd rather comically bitten him in an effort to make him put her back down. She hated how easy it was for him to lift her, and she hated being unable to do things herself – and tonight, she hated that both Luke and her father were witnessing one of the worst episodes she'd ever had.

Han placed her on his side of the bed and then turned on the bathroom lights, loudly pulling a first aid kit from the depths of the towel closet. She turned over, blinking, and took a few steadying breaths – she may resent the idea of being carried, but she was so relieved to be home, so relieved he was here. She wiped at her eyes with her palms, and her skin came away smudged with dark, streaky mascara; she held her eyes closed tightly for a moment and felt the tears burn back into her eyes, trapped.

Han sat on the edge of the bed with her, pushing painkillers gently into her palm. He pulled her foot into his lap and drew aside the silky material of her gown, gently prodding the swollen ankle. She sucked in her breath and twitched away, and he leaned towards her.

"Leia, how bad is this?" he asked. It sounded like he was referring to the ankle, but it also sounded like he meant – overall. "You need a medic?" His voice was hoarse, raw with concern.

She shook her head.

"It's a minor sprain," she answered honestly. She'd stumbled down the steps of the temple when she'd lied and told Luke she wasn't dizzy. "Han – my nose," she started - her voice was thick, full of anxiety, and the discomfort of having blood in her sinuses.

He rummaged around in the open kit for something, and found a few gauze strips. He handed them over, and she held them to her nose, hand still shaking. He unfurled some plaster bandages to wrap her ankle in, and his fingers hesitated over a syringe full of a medicinal aid that helped damaged muscles.

"Can you talk a shot right now?" he asked.

" _No_ ," she said sharply, the word escaping from her lips, strangled and definitive.

He nodded and pushed away the kit – he'd see to administering that when she was in a better state of mind. He gingerly pulled her foot into a better position in his lap and started to work with the bandage – she shied away.

"I have to wrap it tight," he said quietly. "It's going to hurt."

She nodded and pressed her face into the pillow; it was only fair – he needed to secure it to the best of his ability if she wasn't going to let him give her the muscle repair aid. He worked quickly with the bandage, fast but efficient, and he kept glancing up to watch her face.

"What happened?" he asked again, calmer, soothed a little by the privacy a closed bedroom door afforded them. "What did Luke - " he started tensely.

She shook her head, opening her eyes wide.

"It wasn't his fault," she defended honestly, her voice cracking. "I wanted – I needed him to," she broke off.

"If he did something you weren't ready for – "

"He didn't do anything to me," Leia defended again, firmly. "It wasn't bad at first – and I think I hurt him," she said in a small voice. " _I_ hurt him."

"What?" Han asked, running his hand over the bandage to secure it. He leaned forward, careful not to put pressure on her foot. "What do you mean, _you_ – "

"I don't know," she whispered, avoiding his eyes. "He has burns on his hands, and he…he did something to me to break the connection with the Force."

Han bristled.

"You said he didn't – "

"Han, he didn't hurt me," she said hoarsely, closing her eyes lightly. "He didn't hurt me," she repeated. She didn't want him blaming Luke, or tearing Luke apart, or making Luke feel sick over this - in all that she was feeling, in everything that was raging in her head and heart right now, none of it was animosity towards Luke, and the last thing she needed was Han lighting into him.

She swallowed hard, and then sat up slowly, moving closer. Her nose appeared to have stopped bleeding, and her face flushed a little. She reached for Han's hand, her fingers still trembling, and she looked like she was trying to find the words to explain what had happened, but when she spoke, all she said was –

"I want to go to sleep."

She said it like a confession, almost, like she couldn't believe she'd just identified that's what it was. She squeezed his fingers, the exhaustion evident in everything about her – her eyes, her posture, her voice. "I've been – tired, and – I'm so tired," she murmured tightly.

She felt like she could sleep right now – she felt like she could sleep, uninterrupted, for days. There was a strange clarity simmering in her head that usually wasn't there, and she thought it might be an after effect of the positive parts of the meditation – but she was still affected, too, but the negative parts. She blinked, and tears spilled out the corners of her eyes, but she didn't flinch, her face didn't move - they were just there, side-effects, tumbling out of her, and taking tiny bits of toxicity with them.

She felt drained, and dizzy, and Han's palm held tightly against hers was a physical comfort that was slowly steadying her shaking hands. She looked at him – his face tense and lined with concern, and she remembered that deep sense of commitment and trust that had washed over her when the Force assured her – somehow, in some ethereal way –

 _This one can be counted on._

She moved towards him, biting back a squeal of pain as she moved her ankle too roughly. He gave her a warning look and got up, moving the first aid kit off the bed, and then gesturing for her to move over, more towards her side. He laid down next to her, and she breathed out slowly, moving close enough that her nose pressed against his shirt.

She ran one hand over him possessively, reminding herself he was there. She drew in a deep, ragged breath; her mouth felt like metal; her head felt like it was vibrating. She cast around for something to say, trying to ground herself in a moment.

"Why is Father," she started, "Why was he – were you fighting?"

"Don't worry about him, Leia," Han said gruffly. "He's fine." Han paused a beat, and decided that wasn't a good enough answer, and he amended it: "We weren't fighting. Nothing's wrong."

Leia squeezed her eyes shut. He pressed his lips to her forehead and reached up to start undoing her hair, his fingers moving methodically. Each brush of his fingertips against her scalp was like an anchor, and because of that, she stopped her desperate attempts to try and find her footing, and she realized - she didn't need to right now. She needed to be a mess. She was tired. Han was there. Nothing else mattered for a few hours.

"What were you doing, Sweetheart?" he asked hoarsely.

She tensed for a moment, then relaxed. She took a deep breath, caught in that messy, tangled feeling: allowing herself to be there.

"Han, it's – I can't talk about it right now," she whispered. "I want to sleep."

He ran his fingers loosely through her hair, shaking it out. He nodded, apprehensively – he dreaded letting her go to sleep in this state, because it seemed like she had done something to dredge up the worst of everything.

"You want a sedative?" he ventured quietly.

"No," she said softly, her head resting heavily against his chest.

Her voice sounded faint, and he drew back, eyeing her face. He sat up a little, and cupped his palm around her cheek, coaxing her to look at him.

"Leia," he asked thickly, seriously. His words caught in his throat. "What can I do?"

She wrapped her arm around his tightly, blinking lashes that were wet with tears.

"I just need you to be here," she said.

He didn't feel like that was enough – he didn't feel like he was doing _enough,_ but she closed her eyes, and pressed her nose back against his shirt, and he could feel her falling asleep, overwhelmed by – exhaustion, and stress, and whatever the hell she'd gotten up to with her brother, and he laid there with her, fully clothed, boots and all, tense, completely forgetting there were people in the living room. Leia's steady breathing against his chest didn't provide him any relief; he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that the Force – Luke's power source, the culprit of the nose bleed – had only done more damage than good.

* * *

Han fell asleep in the loosest sense of the word – he felt awake, but he knew time was passing; he'd startle into consciousness, look around, and then close his eyes again when he found no threat, or found Leia still asleep next to him – and the strange thing was, for hours and hours he went on like that, and Leia rested undisturbed.

Every time he awoke, her chest was rising and falling peacefully, her face was a peaceful mask, and she was still and relaxed. She'd hooked her hand into the waist of his trousers at some point, and she hadn't let go.

She slept like the dead, like a rock – like every other metaphor in the galaxy – she was still sleeping when he lifted his head for the umpteenth time, restless, and noted that there was a glimmer of sunlight around the edge of a curtain. He furrowed his brow, and sat up, his shoulders hunched, rubbing his jaw. She remained on her stomach next to him, her hand shaken from its place, and hitting the covers next to her.

It seemed like early morning, and he struggled to remember what day it was – a work day, an off day? He wasn't about to let her go into the Senate or even the Embassy after a night like that; did he need to make a discreet call - ?

Leia shifted next to him, and pushed herself up on her palms, looking around hazily. He looked at her sharply, alert in an instant. and she met his eyes. She gave a faint, unfocused smile, and brushed her hand over her face, inadvertently drawing attention to the black make-up marks that still smeared it. She laid back down and her eyes closed lightly, and he bent over her, shaking her shoulder gently.

"Leia, go take a shower," he suggested quietly.

She blinked at him a little, and then she nodded, and sat up, fumbling with her dress – he mentally kicked himself for not getting her out of it before she fell asleep, but it hadn't been the first thing on his mind.

He watched her gingerly put weight on her foot and then stand, unzipping herself and dropping the gown unceremoniously to the floor. He rose and followed her into the 'fresher, eyes on her ankle. It was wrapped tight enough that she only favored it gently, and she didn't say a word while he set the temperature for her; she didn't say a word when he checked on her twice – she was quiet, a little subdued, but her eyes were calm and alert, so he let her be.

He hung up the dress, and went into the kitchen to start kaffe for himself and get her something to put in her stomach – fruit, and toast. He was apprehensive as he listened to the water run, and as he wallowed in the eerie silence of the kitchen – he winced when he loudly clanged a mug against the kaffe maker, and with a plate in hand, he paused to check the living room.

Bail was asleep at a stiff angle in the armchair, and Han grimaced a little – he could have easily moved into a spare room, but he'd probably been waiting up for Han to at least tell him Leia hadn't gone into some sort of irreversible shock.

The kaffe seemed to revive the Viceroy even as Han stood there, and he peered at Han warily, tiredly, for a moment, before sitting forward sharply.

Han just held up his hand, his expression calm.

"She's in the shower," he said gruffly. His voice was raw with leftover sleep. He jerked his thumb at the kitchen. "Get yourself kaffe," he said – and he meant to be a nice gesture, but it might have sounded like a dismissal.

"Is she – " Bail started.

"She's been asleep," Han answered, anticipating the question. He started to go back to the bedroom, and then backtracked. "Luke still here?" he asked.

Bail shook his head, and then frowned, paused, and nodded. He lifted his hand and pointed at the balcony – and Han noticed the door was opened just slightly.

"He got up and went out there," the Viceroy croaked. "Meditating." he added.

Han blinked, glancing past Bail to the balcony. He nodded once, absently, and then left without another word – and he knew Bail was anxious, and likely frustrated at Han's lack of exposition, but he'd just heard the 'fresher turn off, and he wanted Leia to eat, and he wanted to deter her if she tried to go to work.

Luke and Bail both could be dealt with after he was convinced Leia was okay – and at this point, he still wasn't convinced.

She was wrapped in a short, soft robe when he went back into the bedroom, still just slightly damp, and sliding her fingers through her hair. She had pulled back the covers and was looking at her injured foot, resting it gingerly on her knee. Han stood in front of her, and handed her the plate.

"Here," he said gruffly, and then, with the same firmness, but quieter, he added: "I don't want you going to work today."

Leia took him completely by surprise by taking the plate, picking up a piece of fruit without protest, and saying, very hoarsely:

"I'm not. I'm going back to sleep."

Han stared at her, out of his element – no protest, no insisting she was fine? His brow furrowed darkly, and he watched her nibble hesitantly on the fleshy part of fruit. Her eyes still flicking to that ankle. Hesitantly, he crouched down and ran his hand over it, looking up at her.

"How is this?" he asked quietly. "Can you take a shot now?"

She shook her head, closing her eyes lightly. She took a few more bites of fruit, and then set it aside, leaning back. Her ankle slipped out of his grasp, and she pulled sheets around her.

"I don't feel like eating," she said, her words intercepted by a yawn.

He stood back up, and sat down next to her, leaning over her, his arms braced on either side of her shoulders. She brushed her knuckles against his thigh, and then tiredly eyed the wrinkles in his shirt, her eyes falling from his shoulder down his side – to the boots he still had on.

" _You_ go shower," she said softly.

He lifted one hand and felt her forehead, concern prickling at him – hell, maybe Luke hadn't just messed with her head, maybe she'd caught something in that infernal Jedi Temple – he pressed his knuckles to her neck lightly, testing for a fever.

It brought out a small smile.

"I'm not sick," she said. "I'm just tired."

He leaned closer, his thumb brushing her jaw.

"You're scaring me, Leia," he said huskily.

She took a deep breath, and swallowed hard.

"I know," she said, very quietly. He tilted his head closer to hear her. "It's why I went to Luke. I'm tired of scaring you."

Han's throat felt constricted, and he was hit with a sudden sense of guilt, or shame or – what the hell did she mean by that? He still wasn't convinced Luke had done any good, he still felt a simmering sense of suspicion, and rage, and helplessness, and now – he didn't want to think that his frustration had pushed her to do something she didn't want to do.

"Sweetheart," he started, but she shook her head.

"I want to go to sleep," she murmured. "I don't want to talk right now."

She blinked, and her eyes were watering again – she seemed to still be in the grips of – whatever had happened last night, still reflective, still entranced. He started to protest, but nodded instead, resigned – she turned to her side, curling up, sighing slowly.

"Don't – don't do anything to Luke," she murmured sleepily. "I mean it, Han."

Han nodded again, though it was a bit more of a tense movement. He ran his hand through her hair once while she got comfortable, and he sat by her, again, while she fell asleep – torn between getting in the shower, and changing clothes, and going out there to handle her father, and staying right here with her until he convince himself she was in a better place.

Her words at ate him though, and he was too alert and awake to stay with her without disturbing her – he forewent the 'fresher, and grabbed the plate he'd fixed her, giving the barely touched breakfast a grim, bitter look before he took it from the room, shutting the door quietly and leaving her to sleep, for a while, in early morning serenity.

* * *

The Viceroy was no longer in the living room armchair when he returned, and Han shot a wary look around before heading straight for the balcony where he'd been told Luke was. He stepped outside and blinked in the early morning, barely-warm air, looking around – and doing a double take.

Luke was sitting cross-legged on the pavement floor of the balcony, his back straight against the brick outer wall of the apartment. Han's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything – he forced himself to remember that Leia insisted he wasn't at fault, and Leia was not the type of woman who would be lying for someone who hurt her.

Han also had to admit that – Luke was not the type of man who would have ever deliberately and maliciously hurt Leia, or any person for that matter, and then asked them to lie about it.

Han strode forward until his shadow was hanging over Luke, and the kid looked up, eyes opening slowly. He blinked, looking drugged for a moment, and then he scrambled up, unsteady on his feet. He blanched, searching Han's expression, and wrung his hands in front of him.

"Leia told me not to do anything to you," Han informed him.

Luke let out a breath.

"Han," he said calmly, "She called _me_. _She_ initiated this."

Han just nodded once, curtly. He didn't think it mattered – he specifically told Luke not to get involved with this stuff with her right now, and as far as he was concerned, that meant not jumping the blaster at the first sign of interest from her. He should have eased her in, he should have –

"You should have told me what you were doing," he said sharply.

Luke sighed, and rubbed his forehead.

"Well," he said flatly, "not to throw your words back in your face or anything, but if I want her to trust me with her Force training, I can't go tattling to you every time she makes an independent decision about it."

Han looked like he'd swallowed a mouthful of sour fruit and glowered at Luke, but he didn't say anything – fair enough. Leia was the one who was responsible for telling him, he supposed. He glanced back towards the apartment, and then folded his arms stiffly.

"Have you been keeping her asleep?" he asked tersely.

"What do you mean?" Luke asked, brow furrowing. "I was trying to reach out to Ben. I was meditating."

Han grunted uncertainly.

"She's been asleep for hours," he said, stressing the word. "Uninterrupted. She took a shower and went back to sleep."

Luke touched his forehead.

"She hasn't had -?"

Han shook his head, and Luke looked thoughtful for a moment, and then burst into a grin. He grabbed Han's elbows.

"Then, it helped – it _had_ to have helped a little," he said earnestly. "I know I – I know she looked awful," Luke fumbled around ineloquently. "It got – out of hand, and I didn't mean to – she said she was fine to walk and then she sprained her ankle, I'm sorry I let that happen but – she's sleeping," Luke said. "You can't be angry about _that_."

Han shrugged.

He was happy Leia was asleep; he just wasn't so sure anything had _helped._

"You sure you didn't just break her?" He asked dryly.

Luke swallowed hard.

"You couldn't have just taught her to levitate something?" Han pressed sardonically.

Luke rolled his eyes a little - he felt relieved that Leia was just sleeping, because his connection to her had been silent as the grave since last night.

"Han, just let her sleep," he said earnestly. "She's drained. The whole thing was – emotional, and it took a lot out of her."

Han's expression hardened a little, and he didn't say anything – _what did it take out of her, Luke?_ He wanted to ask. She wasn't fighting him on taking a sick day, she seemed meek – he was half a minute away from accusing Luke of lobotomizing her.

Luke smiled again, and reached out to grasp Han's arm.

"I have to go relieve Wedge on duty," he said. "My shift is at six – I'll check back in later," he said – and he sounded relieved, both relieved that Leia wasn't comatose in there, and relieved Han hadn't chucked him off the balcony to his death.

Luke wrung his hands once again, his face thoughtful, and then started to move past Han. Han followed him, leaving the doors open – and stepping into the living room, he thought he the place smelled vaguely like something was burning, but he filed that away for later.

"Hey, Luke," he called, as Luke was gathering his robe.

The earnest blue eyes that looked back at him were filled with a sense of success, and Han bit back the urge to accuse him of being naïve and all kinds of other things. He cleared his throat, hitting one of his boots against the other.

"Did Leia say anything about me?" he asked, still a little caught up on her words.

Luke paused, tilting his head as he thought about it.

"She said you were right, that she needed help," he said finally, straightening up and fastening on his cloak.

He lifted his hand once more in a departing wave, and Han gnashed his teeth together, watching him go. He stood stiffly before the sofa for a moment, and then he sat down on the edge, resting his elbows hard on his knees. He ran his hands over his face. He was grudgingly deciding that he needed to figure out where Bail had wandered off to when he was struck by that burned scent again.

The scent was followed by the clink of a plate and a mug, and Han lower his hands, looking blankly in front of him.

He was staring at a mug of black kaffe and a plate with … very, very black bread on it. He gave the items a full minute of a long, unblinking glare, and then he looked around to see Leia's father sitting back down in the armchair with his own cup of kaffe.

Han pointed with one finger at the plate.

"What the hell is that?" he asked dubiously.

"Ah, well," Bail began, clearly trying to be confident about the situation. "I thought you might need to eat," he said. "I also thought I could handle making toast."

Han looked back at the charred black remnants of bread. He blinked slowly – he was distracted by ten different things, but somehow, gazing at the Viceroy's magnificently failed attempt at making breakfast elevated his mood. He leaned forward, picked up one of the offensively burned pieces, and broke it in half pointedly.

Parts of it crumbled and disintegrated into the carpet, and Han looked down at them pointedly as well.

He looked at Bail blankly.

"You can't handle making toast," he said flatly.

"In theory, it seemed simple – "

"It is simple. You press a button," Han pointed out. "How are you alive?" he asked bluntly.

"In my defense, we had servants – "

In spite of himself, in spite of everything, Han cracked a grin – perhaps not as charming as usual, but good-natured nonetheless, and he shook the pieces of black bread at Bail.

"Next time, just pull out a blaster and shoot it," he mocked, snorting.

He made a show of attempting to bite the toast, then of trying dipping it in the kaffe to soften it – and then dramatically replaced it on the plate, shaking his head incredulously. Bail sat forward a little, a sheepish expression on his face.

"I'll just – throw that away," he began, but Han thrust his arm out sharply, indicating he should stay seated.

"No, I want Leia to see it," he said.

He was smirking as the words came out of his mouth, but the teasing expression faded quickly, the light moment dampened – and he sensed Bail's shoulders sag a little, too, both of them abruptly reminded of why they were sore and exhausted, and together, at the crack of dawn in his apartment.

Han tipped the kaffe to his lips and took a long draught, falling silent. Bail looked down at his, his expression anxious, and looked back up, shifting in his seat. He turned towards Han, hesitant, and then finally spoke up.

"Is she alright?" he asked, voice full of concern. "I've never seen her so, so," he couldn't think of a word.

"Fucked up?" Han offered bluntly.

Bail winced.

"Disoriented," he revised diplomatically.

Han's lips turned up a little, mirthlessly – he was tempted to shrug. The truth was, minus the bloody nose and the sprained ankle, he had seen her like that before; twice. On the way to Bespin, and on Endor.

"Is she _okay_?" Bail repeated.

Han rubbed his jaw hard, and sighed harshly.

"She will be," he said tiredly. He gave Bail a short, somewhat reassuring look. "She hasn't talked. She's just been asleep," he said – he thought that might make Bail feel better, that he hadn't been holed up with Leia talking her off a cliff or keeping her away from razors or anything; she'd just been sleeping.

Bail swallowed hard and looked down at his kaffe, knuckles turning white with his tense grip.

"I suppose you have…seen her like that…before?" he ventured uncomfortably.

Han leaned back, shoulders falling. He didn't say anything for a while, and then he cleared his throat roughly.

"Yeah," he answered. He tilted his head back towards the hall that led to the bedroom. "That was pretty bad," he conceded, "but yeah, I have." He fell silent for another moment, and then looked at Bail sharply. "Last time, it was when she found out about Vader," he said curtly. He lifted his kaffe to his mouth again. "She fought a battle the next day," he added - if that told Bail anything about Leia's ability to pull herself back together.

Han lowered his mug though, his brow darkening – and then he was looking back at Bail with unbridled resentment for a moment, and Bail grit his teeth tensely, steeling himself.

" _You_ brought all this back up," Han said – and it wasn't an accusation, or a hysterical shout, it was a blunt comment, and it was a fact, even if Bail had done nothing deliberate, had done nothing but survive. "She was coping. She was, she," Han fumbled ineloquently, baring his teeth while he searched for words. "She knew this would – that having to confront you would," he broke off again.

He stopped, because he had no intention of telling Bail that Leia's feelings about having him back had been so mixed, so uncertain, that she'd questioned sending a rescue team at all. Han clenched his teeth tightly.

Bail looked miserable, but he kept a strong face.

"Even without me," he said, "she would have had to – come to terms."

Han nodded absently.

"It would have been slower," he said, a little harshly. "Better." He tapped his finger stiffly against his mug, and looked at Bail with an unreadable expression. "You were her hero," he said, and this time his tone was accusatory. "You were a saint in her eyes. She talked about you like – when she could talk about you," he said pointedly. He broke off, and shook his head, pointing at Bail sharply around the rim of his mug. "The worst part about her finding out her whole life was a lie was you crashing off the goddamn pedestal."

Bail sat forward tiredly, putting his mug down, running his hands over his eyes. His expression was pale, tight, and he clasped his hands, resting his chin on his knuckles.

"It _wasn't_ a lie, General Solo," he said earnestly. "I _love_ my daughter. I'd do anything to be the one who suffered for her. I've told her – I've told her how genuine our love and affection for her was."

"It doesn't matter," Han said hollowly. He pointed to his head. "She can know it here, and feel betrayed here," he flicked his fingers against his chest, below his heart, callously – and pointedly. He was quiet, and then his jaw twitched stiffly, and he shrugged. "That's why I had a problem with you," he said finally. "I hate seeing her like this."

Bail swallowed hard, his mouth feeling like cotton, and he stared at Han – it made sense, Han viewing him as the sole catalyst for Leia having to dive headfirst into intersecting psychological trauma.

"I can't stand seeing this either," he said hoarsely. "You – you know her, you say you've witnessed her nightmares, and all of this trauma before, but this is my worst nightmare as a parent," he lifted his shoulders desperately. "I can't take back my survival."

Han held up his hand, shaking his head – he realized sharply it sounded like he was saying they would all be better off if Bail was still dead, and that – wasn't exactly what he'd meant. Leia was just having such a hard time – but even if Bail Organa, and all of the Alderaanians', return was the catalyst, it wasn't their _fault_.

"'M not saying she doesn't want you around," Han muttered.

He took a drink of kaffe, and ran a hand over his face again.

Bail watched him, his eyes alternately running over the rigid, strained muscles in Han's jaw and flicking back down to his own innocuous black kaffe. The thing was – he thought he should have been offended, hearing Han talk about his animosity, hearing that Han bore resentment towards him for his mere reappearance, but he didn't.

He watched Han, sitting on the edge of the sofa tensely, and he recognized that every part of this man cared immensely for Leia, and all Bail felt was a deep sense of respect. Looking at Han's profile, he thought of Leia's remarks recently, her insistence that any man equal to her in aristocratic upbringing would be put off by her, and he understood what she was saying – he understood, because Han's most prominent reaction to the whole situation was anger at Luke; it wasn't uncertainty, or paralysis, or anything of the sort.

And that meant something, because thinking of the scene he'd witnessed – Bail new exactly what any member of the old royal houses would have done: called a nurse, or a physician, and passed Leia off until anything – _untoward_ – was over. He realized, with a sinking feeling, that's exactly what his own sister would have done – and he himself had certainly stood, watching, thinking he was out of his element.

"You really know what you're doing with her," Bail said quietly, sighing heavily. "I've been trying to understand, but I've been failing." He swallowed hard. "I'm glad she can come home to this – support you – to you, I suppose," he said haltingly.

Han grimaced slightly, and set his mug down. He stared at it a moment, and then stood up, agitated – Now the Viceroy wanted to get friendly; now he wanted to start applying a seal of approval, when all of this was – when it was probably Han's fault in the first place?

He felt a surge of guilt, stinging through him like acid, and he paced a few feet away from Bail. He ran his hand through his hair, back turned on the Viceroy, and rubbed his jaw roughly for a moment. He shook his head.

"Don't give me that kind of credit," he said in a low voice. "Don't get mushy on me now, Viceroy."

"Why not?" Bail demanded. "Isn't that what you want? Don't you want me to admit that I've been wrong? That you're being good to her? That out of all the bad things that have happened, I should be satisfied that at least she has someone like you?"

Han turned around sharply, a miserable tension in his jaw.

"I'm not good enough to her," he growled.

He should have been pleased to see Bail give him an incredulous look, but he wasn't. He was thinking about yelling at her over spilled kaffe in the Falcon, and he was thinking about shouting at her that she was worse, and he was thinking about what he'd done that obviously pushed her into something she didn't want to do.

Bail held up his hands, shaking his head in consternation.

"Hold on – hold on," he said swiftly. "What in the devil – since _when_?" he asked, a sarcastic edge tinging his voice. "You've been quite adamant since the beginning that you're the damn best thing that's ever happened to her – quite full of yourself, at some points," he remarked. "Is this – what is this, insecurity? Where did it come from?"

Bail lowered his hands, demanding an answer with his gaze – Han was obviously distressed, and it was impressive that he hadn't been this out of sorts when Leia needed him to be the one handling things with conviction, but Bail was wondering where the bravado had gone, where –

Han braced a hand on his hip and ran a hand over his jaw again.

"She's never wanted anything to with that – _damn_ Jedi Temple," he snapped. "Then all of a sudden – we have a fight this morning, and she dives into this," he lashed out angrily.

"This - ?" began Bail.

" _Yesterday_ morning," Han corrected tensely – he was losing track of time. "I told her she was just getting worse, and she went to work pissed off – and runs off to fuck around with Luke's – _voodoo_ ," he raged, "and then, she tells me, she did it because she's tired of _scaring me_."

He jabbed himself in the chest pointedly.

"It's not supposed to be about _me_ ," he growled. "I want her to get better, but not because I force her to. On her own terms."

Bail looked at him for a moment, his eyes wide, and then, he hung his head, sighing. He ran his hand over the back of his neck, and when he looked back up, Han was taken aback to find he was smiling a little – it wasn't a particularly happy smile, but it was a smile that implied – understanding, albeit unfortunate understanding.

"Sit down, Han," he said.

Han gave him a rough look, like he was suspicious, like he rather expected Bail to take back his praise and accuse him of further damaging his daughter – but instead, he just looked at him, patiently waiting, and then pointed very sharply to the sofa, reiterating his request.

"Sit," he ordered.

Han sat.

Bail was quiet for a moment, looking at him intently, and then he sighed, leaning heavily on his knees.

"I think this _was_ on her own terms," he said finally.

Han gave a stiff grimace and shook his head, looking down at his hands.

"No, hear me out – listen," Bail said thoughtfully. He hesitated lengthily, and then took a deep breath. "Leia needed more help than she was willing to admit she needed, I gather," he began. "I think – it's been my experience – that there comes a point in all of our lives when we need help desperately, and refuse to confront that. It's especially difficult for people like Leia who have…a significant history of independent success."

Bail swallowed.

"When my wife was – do you know what my wife went through, before Leia?" he asked cautiously.

Han gave him a wary look, unsure where this was going, but he nodded.

"I know it's very difficult to watch the woman you love suffer," he said quietly. "Breha had so many miscarriages, and then she was finally told she'd never be able to carry a child to term. There was such profound depth to the devastation we felt," he explained, fighting to keep his voice steady, "and I did not bear it with the grace she did."

Han blinked at him without a word, giving him full attention.

"I," he said firmly, "began to drink. Miraculously, it had no effect on my public life – probably because I felt that was the only place I wasn't failing. It created some severe tension in my personal relationships," he confessed heavily, "and it's not something I'm entirely sure I would have rectified if it weren't," he paused pointedly, "for _Breha_."

Han leaned back a little, rubbing his hands over his knees. His knuckles flexed a little uncomfortable, and Bail sighed, gritting his teeth.

"Breha was the kind of woman angels aspired to be," he said emphatically. "She was never harsh, she was never cruel, and she was never violent – save for one evening."

Bail looked down at his hands, as this was – difficult for him to relate, for a myriad of reasons.

"I'm afraid I don't even remember what I had done, but it was the only evening she ever slept in a separate room. But before she left," he said, "before she left, she held my face," he gestured around his jaw for effect, "and dug her nails into me, and she told me I was not the man she married. She told me she'd made me a promise, and that was to stand by me no matter what, but she was – these were her exact words – she was terrified of me. She wanted to know why, if we knew we couldn't have children, I thought we should lose each other, too."

Bail paused, steadying himself.

 _I know you're suffering, B, but I can't fathom why you think you're suffering alone. And why you think the alcohol will make it better. I feel better when you smile at me – I will feel better when you want me, and not a bottle, to feel better._

He cleared his throat.

"You – understand what I'm saying?" he ventured hoarsely.

Han looked at him intently, his expression unreadable.

"You think I saved Leia?" he asked, a little sardonically.

"Breha didn't save me," Bail said flatly. "She inspired me."

He let that linger for a moment, and then he held out his palm, placing his index finger straight down in it to hammer home a point.

"I was fully convinced I was self-medicating responsibly," he said bluntly. "I didn't have a problem, in my eyes. I could have gone on like that. But when I realized my wife was feeling helpless because of me, because she couldn't seem to help, it made me realize I didn't want to lose her. I knew she'd be by my side no matter what, but if I didn't get help, it would destroy her. I didn't want her to hurt for a single moment more."

Bail rubbed his face again, his palm lingering over his nose and mouth thoughtfully.

"You didn't drag Leia to a therapist and bind her arms and lock her up – _that's_ forcing someone. You've just been there for her, and you must have made her realize that after all the effort you put in, she owed it to both of you to save herself."

Han's lips twitched – in a frown, in a tense, compressed line.

He looked at Bail for a long time, and then he looked straight ahead. He had to put in a lot of effort to unstick his jaw before he spoke next.

"I don't want her to think she owes me anything," he said gruffly.

He was quiet again, and then he turned his head to Bail.

"What you're talking about is different," he said, voice low. "You did owe your wife. You were hurting her. Leia's not hurting me."

"Of course she is," Bail said shortly, and Han bristled, turning towards him with tight shoulders, but Bail just gave him a sharp look, and shook his head. "She's not being malicious or abusive, but neither was I – seeing me treat myself poorly is what hurt Breha, seeing me suffer, seeing me struggle. She loved me, and she couldn't do a damn thing to help me until I saw my errors and asked for help. It was tearing her apart."

He paused, giving Han a long, intent look.

"I loved her," he said quietly, succinctly, "so I found the strength to get better."

Han swallowed tensely. He leaned back against the couch, shoulders falling just a little, his face unreadable as he thought about it – thought about her, remembered her touching his face soothingly, swearing to him she wasn't going to kill herself. He didn't want to lose her, he wanted her to feel better.

"You know," Bail said mildly. "These things…are complicated. I never wanted any tragedy to strike Leia. I wanted her life to be charmed, and victorious, and freely lived. To a certain extent, that sort of serendipity was impossible, but she's been through so much worse than I could have – " he broke off a moment. "Han, these things are hard. My petty alcohol issues are nothing compared to this, but if she didn't seek some kind of – healing – it would take its toll on you both, and your relationship would probably disintegrate."

Han shook his head.

"No, I'd be here," he said curtly.

"Yes," Bail said quietly, "but it would become more and more common for your frustration to become uncontrollable," he advised. "You'd keep watching her struggle, and it would drain you. It would become a shell of a good relationship. People cannot take care of each other unless they also take care of themselves."

Han flexed his jaw tightly, rolling his head from side to said – Bail had a point; Bail had several good points. He hadn't been angry at Leia yesterday for having nightmares or for being a hassle, he'd been furious because he couldn't do anything to make it better.

Bail looked at him intently, wondering if he was getting through - and in trying to explain his point to Han, he realized, with fierce conviction, that Han Solo was absolutely the kind of man he wanted standing by his daughter, if he was hellbent on walking through fire with her no matter what. He felt a moment of confidence in the Corellian who, for all of the so-called faults he had, was so singularly loyal to Leia.

Bail took a deep breath.

"You've been with her even at the worst," he went on, subdued; and it was strange, the way the tables had turned: the Viceroy comforting Han, and in doing so, coming to understand that Han was never any threat at all. "She knows you'll be there at the worst. She can rely on you...so if she's confident that your love isn't conditional upon her doing what you want, even when that makes it harder on you, it gives her faith in herself. It makes her feel worth the effort. You haven't...shoved her face in something. You got through to her."

Bail swallowed hard.

"I can see now how badly she needed that. I...thank you," he said heavily. "Thank you for being there for her."

Han was silent while Bail leaned forward and picked up his kaffe, and silent while he watched him drink it, and make a grim face, because it had gotten cold. He stared at him a bit stonily for a long time, and then he said –

"You're a pretty smart guy."

Bail snorted – the comment seemed absurdly underwhelming compared to all that had just been said, and Han said it like he was grudgingly surprised, which was more amusing than it was insulting. Bail had been thinking Han Solo was uncouth and lacking in any formal education, and clearly, Han had considered Bail's impeccable education to be irrelevant when held up against his lack of street smarts.

"Only pretty smart?" Bail asked dryly.

Han shrugged.

"You lose points when you can't make toast," he muttered.

Bail scowled at him over his mug of kaffe, but felt a little relieved – this was meaningful conversation, this was in-depth communication, this was the sort of thing he and Han needed to engage in. There was no Leia, or Luke, or Carlist, or Winter here to blow whistles or call time-outs, it was open an uncensored, and Bail sat, sipping his cool kaffe, trying to remember what his qualms had been about this man, but right now, he couldn't seem to find them.

They had hidden themselves away, perhaps disappeared – because the sheer weight of Han's guilt over a single fight was a tell-tale sign of how much he really loved Leia, how much he really wanted nothing more than to see her safe and happy and comfortable, and that's all Bail wanted, too.

There may have been a time when he had also had his plans for her, like any member of a royal family, like any politician, but now, in this world – after all that had happened to her, and after his entire world had been obliterated, reduced to one small ship, and then shaken up all over again when he was rescued, he just wanted her happy, and safe, and he wanted to be part of her life.

Han put his hands behind his head, a harmless frown on his face, and stared down at his own abandoned kaffe.

"I want to know what happened out there," he said, nearly to himself. "I want her to talk. She doesn't want to talk."

"You said she was asleep," Bail pointed out.

Han nodded stiffly.

"Wouldn't you think…that's a good indication?" the Viceroy ventured. "She needs it badly."

Han ran one hand over his face.

"Yeah," he agreed.

He couldn't argue with that. She needed sleep, probably more than anything right now, and for the brief time she'd been awake, she did seem more composed, more together. He put his hand back behind his head and then shifted tensely, looking at Bail suddenly.

"What were you going to say last night?" he asked abruptly.

Bail blinked, taken aback.

"I – what? When?"

"About me marrying her," Han said dryly. "You started a speech."

"I was not going to give a _speech,"_ Bail protested, lifting his chin.

Han rolled his eyes a little, and waited pointedly.

Bail sighed shortly.

"I was just going to tell you that I'd like to – that it is very important to me that I give Leia a traditional wedding. And that would consist of – she's a princess. Quite a lot of ceremony."

When Han didn't say anything, Bail cleared his throat uncertainly.

"She's _the_ princess. The last of authentic Alderaan."

Han looked at him neutrally.

"Is that what she wants?" he asked mildly.

Bail started to answer, and then stopped – well, Leia hadn't specifically agreed. She'd hesitated, and then turned the conversation to her mother. Han didn't pause for Bail's hesitation though, instead, he just shrugged, rather abruptly.

"I don't care," he said bluntly. "I'll do whatever she wants." He lowered his hands and leaned forward. "Make it a ridiculous fancy affair, what the hell?" he said edgily.

That ought to shut up the detractors, anyway. It was highly unlikely people like Jan Dodonna and Threkin Horm were going to continue to protest if Bail Organa himself wanted a public, gaudy, consecrated event.

"I can wait, too," Han added gruffly, unexpectedly. He gestured vaguely with his hand. "If you and Rouge need more time to…adjust."

"Leia told me she doesn't want to make you wait," Bail said immediately.

Han smirked a little.

"I'll tell her it's okay," he said. He gave Bail a wry look. "I'm not desperate for the wedding _night_ , Viceroy, we've been there."

Bail blinked, narrowing his eyes.

"I think you said that specifically to be obnoxious and I am not amused," he said primly.

"I am," Han retorted, deadpan.

He grinned, and Bail gave him a dubious look.

The Viceroy bowed his head a moment and then looked up, tired, and thoughtful.

"Do you know what I could use right now?" he asked.

"A drink?" Han suggested a little callously – he'd seen Bail drink, so obviously his problems with alcohol had been rectified enough that he was capable of it now, but it still seemed an insensitive thing to suggest.

"No," Bail said dryly. "A cigar," he corrected.

Han gave him a mildly surprised look – seemed like a vice a Prince of a royal house wouldn't necessarily be given to, particularly since most types of cigars were laced with a mild version of spice. He considered Bail for a minute, and then got up, holding up one finger briefly.

He went into the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and dug through to the back, pulling a carved box out of the back. He slid open the lid and took two cigars out, grabbing a knife from a drawer to clip the edges. As far as spice went, these were completely devoid of it, but they were a gift from Kashyyyk, and they were good cigars.

Leia had banished them to oblivion after smelling them on him _once_.

Returning to the living room. Han silently swiped the edge off the two cigars, and handed one to Bail.

"Ah," Bail exclaimed, by way of thanks.

Han looked around for a moment for a lighter, frowning, and then he realized his dismantled stereo was still on the table, along with most of his tools. He picked up the hydrospanners, sparked them, and lit the cigars with them.

"Inventive," Bail remarked.

Han grinned, and sat back down. He gestured at Bail's cigar with his.

"Leia hates the smell," he said.

"I'm aware," Bail said mildly. "Perhaps she won't touch you because of it."

Han smirked, and raised his hand as if to acknowledge Bail's verbal revenge. He was about to sit back again, when he caught sight of the chronometer on the wall, and was immediately set on edge.

"Shit," he swore, running his hand over his jaw.

"What - ?"

"I've got to cover for her work day," Han said, distracted. "She can't just not show up – I don't think she's thinking straight, anyway – "

"That's a simple fix; make a call and tell her superior she's sick," Bail said calmly.

Han gave him an incredulous look.

"You think they're gonna take it from _me_?" he retorted.

It was hardly likely that Leia's superior – who was Mon Mothma herself – was going to take Han's words at face value; they'd want to speak to Leia, and if Leia was woken up for that, she'd probably demand to go into work – Han shook his head again.

"I've got to call Rieekan," he muttered – after all, he needed to take some sort of leave as well, because he wasn't going to leave her in the apartment alone.

Bail chewed thoughtfully on the edge of his cigar, and then sat forward, pulling it from his mouth.

"Don't worry about her," he said. "I'll take her place."

Han arched a brow at him, and Bail nodded.

"Anything she's committed to concerning Alderaan will be straightforward for me. Anything else – well, there's a certain amount of mystique surrounding me at the moment, considering the circumstances of my return, and I can placate any of her other meetings." He flicked ash off the cigar. "I assure you, Mon Mothma _will_ take it from me, no questions asked."

Han looked hesitant, and then raised both brows.

"You're sure?" he asked. "You can do that?"

Bail stood up, nodding confidently.

"Politics and diplomacy? Son, that's about all I can do," he joked, with a good-natured sense of self-deprecating.

Han stood up after him, still a little hesitant, but willing to hand this part of the day over to Bail.

"You won't mind me coming back later to – see about her?" Bail asked carefully.

Han shook his head. Bail nodded, and he stood there for a moment, just looking at Han. Then he cleared his throat, and stepped forward, extending his hand. Han accepted it, and shook it firmly; he didn't feel the need to say anything else, and Bail didn't, either – until they were at the door, and Han put his palm flat against it, stopping Bail from leaving right away.

He gave him an intent look, obviously finding the resolve to say something, and say something he did.

"I love her," he said hoarsely. "She's, y'know, she's," he stopped, and sighed, as if he were frustrated with himself. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Bail's lips turned up gently.

"I very much like hearing that."

Han nodded sharply, emphatically. Bail clapped him on the shoulder hesitantly, and then Han removed his hand from the door, letting Leia's father leave, and tackle her responsibilities for the day. He stood there for a moment, considering the past twelve or so hours – the intensity of their conversation – and he took stock of his options, deciding how to proceed.

He placed a call to Rieekan and had command shifted to a Colonel for the day, and he sent a message to Chewie telling him he wouldn't be around the hangar until much later, if at all. He debated going back to his stereo for the sake of settling his head, but ultimately what he did was clean all of that mess up and commit himself to merely hanging around until Leia woke up.

He went into the bedroom, considering having a 'fresher, but he was too leery of her waking up while he wasn't there. He'd already spent too much time out of the room. Rubbing his hand over his jaw, rough with stubble, he stretched out on the bed next to her. He was careful not to move too much, and he stayed on top of the covers to avoid disturbing her, and for a long time, he listened to her steady, even breathing, soft and calm, and every moment that went by without her waking up screaming, was a moment he was able to relax a little more.

* * *

 _also: so much drama_

 _-alexandra_


	28. Twenty Seven

_a/n: and, with this chapter, we start to come to a close. a dénouement, if you will._

* * *

 _ **Twenty-Seven**_

* * *

Leia slept, uninterrupted and vaguely dreamless, throughout the day. Despite how tired he was – Luke had been right, Han was just as deprived of rest as she – Han found it difficult to force himself to do the same; even with Bail and the kid gone, he was wary and apprehensive. His day was as restless as the night before: he was uncomfortable, uncertain, and he ended up in a sort of thin slumber that had him feeling like he was awake, even though, finally, he wasn't.

Next to him, Leia was oblivious to his discontent. She'd wrapped herself in her familiar sheets and blankets after her shower, and she'd been effortlessly tugged back into the same exhausted, deep sleep she'd succumbed to the night before. She felt like her conscious was wrapped in a cool, protective shield, like there was a shimmering, gossamer barrier between her and the things that haunted her.

She fell short of pleasant dreams, and she fended off nightmares.

She was also treated to the rare, satisfying luxury of waking up slowly, groggily; no alarms blaring on her bedside table or in her head, no tremors in her hands, or the tight, unbearable feeling of being so scared she felt like she couldn't breathe – she merely eased out of sleep, hazily awake before her eyes opened, blessedly given the privilege of deciding when to blink into awareness.

When she did, she found Han asleep next to her – still in his clothes, completely wrinkled, smudged and dusted with engine grease leftover from the day before. He smelled faintly metallic, and – she wrinkled her nose just slightly, taken aback – a stale. There was a tightness to his jaw, a grim, disturbed furrow to his brow, and she breathed out quietly.

She remembered everything clearly, not only because the sleep had done her wonders, but because when she shifted her feet together lightly, a hot ache radiated sharply through her ankle, and then dully through the rest of her. She drew in her breath quietly, swiftly, and then shifted towards him, sliding her palm across the small space between them slowly.

She was sure he was out of his mind with stress and worry, she wasn't sure what had gone on with Luke or – her father – while she was turned in on herself, and she didn't want to startle him.

She brushed her fingertips over his jawline, and against his lips.

"Han," she whispered softly. "Han?"

Despite her best efforts, he jerked awake, blinking harshly. His hand, as it always did when he was unexpectedly awoken, went directly to his thigh. He had a knee-jerk reaction of reaching for his blaster, but finding that he wasn't wearing the gun, or even his holster, his hand flattened to his leg, and he paused, looking at her blankly for a moment.

It seemed to crash over him that she was alert and watching him thoughtfully, and he lunged towards her, his hand flying to her neck, pressing possessively against her skin, moving closer, his other hand threading through her hair.

"What's wrong?" he asked automatically, hoarsely. His eyes met hers, searching, determined, his nose just inches away. "You okay?"

She nodded, her heart skipping a few beats. He was so worried; she'd – she'd so badly put him through the wringer this time.

"I'm okay," she murmured.

He tilted her head up and kissed her, his mouth against hers, like he hadn't seen her in weeks, like she was the air he breathed, and when she reached out to clutch his shoulder, his muscles relaxed into her touch. His kiss was reliable and comforting, and full of relief and a desperate apology, uncertainty and desire, and she broke it, gasping for breath, but he didn't let her go far – he held her face close to his.

" _Han_ ," she mumbled weakly, blushing a little, trying to sound stern – but she was delighted by it, delighted he was here when she woke up, delighted that despite how hellish the past week or so had been, he still wanted – needed – to kiss her like that.

He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arm around her tightly, holding her close, moving his head to share her pillow with her. She took a deep breath, reveling in his scent, his – his _scent,_ he smelled – she recognized all of it: engine grease and subtly woodsy aftershave and the barest hint of that bland, cheap shampoo he used, but there was something off –

She mumbled incoherently into his wrinkled shirt, and he loosened his grip, shifting. He ran a hand through her hair again, catching her eye, shaking his head a little - he hadn't understood; so she repeated herself, uncertain, her words slow and lazy –

"You … smell like, ah, smoke?" she murmured, identifying the right descriptor. "Like my father used to."

She ran her tongue along her lower lip hesitantly, and shook her head slightly – her senses must still be on high alert, still tuned to what she could pull from the Force and remember, and what was in the here and now.

Han was giving her a look she couldn't quite define, and she slid her hand under the hem of his shirt, pressing it comfortably against his ribs. Han reached for it, sliding his fingers against hers.

"What time is it?" she asked uncertainly – her voice was gravelly, soft and a little raw, sleepy and laced with the halting scratchiness common after long stretches of silence.

"I don't know," Han said honestly, bluntly. "You've been out of it for," he squeezed her hand, and then let go, gesturing a little sharply, a little roughly, with his other hand; he hadn't looked at a chrono in hours, he hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep – he leaned up, cradling his jaw in his palm, his elbow stiff, watching her like a hawk.

She bit the inside of her lip, able to sense – without the aid of any supernatural entity – how deep Han's concern ran, how badly she must have scared him. She felt a sharp stab of regret for it, and looked at him with penance, penance and respect. He curled his hand around hers for a moment, and then reached out to touch her hair, drawing his fingers through it. She swallowed hard, shifting, and winced, lowering her head. She bit her lip and breathed out –

"My ankle," she murmured, turning slightly. She leaned up and pushed the covers off of her, reaching for it – she was tangled in the robe she'd gone to sleep in, and it slipped off of her shoulder.

Han pushed it back up, pressing his hand against her collarbone and holding it there, and she was a little surprised he'd exerted himself to _cover_ her bare skin. Her fingers brushed against the tight wrappings, and she winced.

She murmured something, and Han lifted his head slightly, giving her a look that was uncertain, but partly suspicious –

"You speaking Alderaanian?" he asked quietly.

A bit of colour touched her cheeks, and he arched his brow, figuring he'd guessed right –

"Princess, are you _swearing_ in Alderaanian?"

Her hands fumbled with the wrapping a little, worrying frays into it, and she bit her lip – even though she spoke it occasionally now, with the return of her family, and her best friend, and her people, it was still rare, and he'd never heard her pollute it with – well, whatever sorts of words her people used to swear.

"It hurts," she murmured, justifying herself. She scratched at the edge of the bandage – it was itchy, too; tight, and uncomfortable. She supposed that was because she'd gotten it wet when she showered – she remembered showering – and there was still some soap in it, leaving it oily, and irritated.

Han sat up, but he was giving her a cautious look. He leaned forward and looked at her critically, studying her eyes closely.

"Leia, do you remember what happened?" he asked carefully.

Leia blinked at him calmly. She compressed her lips tightly, and then relaxed, her shoulders sagging gently; she nodded slowly.

"Yes," she said truthfully, suppressing a shiver at the memory of what a totally shattered mess she'd been. "It still hurts," she added, a little lightly – she wasn't confused as to _why_ her ankle hurt, she was just – complaining.

Han arched his brows, and sat up fully, gesturing for her to shift. She did, and he took the ankle in his lap again, picking at the edge with his nail until it came loose and he started to unwrap it gingerly. He threw the used bandage aside and ran the pads of his fingers over the injury with care – it was swollen, but not unreasonably so, and there was a bruise blooming over the flat part of her foot.

"Yeah, I wanted to give you something for the muscle, and for the bruising," he said heavily.

Leia sat forward some, looking down at the ankle with distaste. She wriggled her toes, and winced, drawing her lip between her teeth.

"I can take the shot now," she said.

Han glanced at her guardedly, the slight downturn of his lips skeptical. He reached up with one hand to rub his jaw, and didn't say anything.

"It _needs_ the shot," she recognized, grimacing at the sprain again. "Han?" she prompted. "It's hurting. I can take the shot."

He gave her another look, and after a moment, gingerly replaced her ankle on the bed and got up. She watched him go into the bathroom for first aid, then pause, and come back out, returning to his side of the bed and crouching down – he'd left it on the floor yesterday, and he'd never picked it up and moved it. He picked up the syringe, and she saw the look he gave it as he stood up and held it down by his thigh, intimately attuned to Leia's aversion to needles.

It was better, these days, than it had been years ago, when her Death Star torture was fresh, but there were times – precisely like last night – when shots could still send her into a high-stress, impossible to calm panic, and Han was probably thinking it was too soon after a bad episode for this.

He was clearly on edge, walking on eggshells – she genuinely felt clear-headed, she felt calm, she felt okay – and he had no doubt been expecting a subdued tenseness on her part, a need for him to back off for a moment while she reconstructed her armor.

That's what it had always been like before, after all – Bespin, and Endor, both times she'd had overwhelmingly bad nights, bad reactions, bad everything – and then the next morning, she'd been reticent, held him at arm's length just a little, been grateful for his support but desperate to distance herself from what she perceived as weakness.

She didn't necessarily feel that, at this moment.

She felt rested, and she felt awake, and she felt like she wanted Han to give her that shot, and make her ankle feel better.

He sat down next to her, and slid her foot into his lap again, running his rough palm over her foot. He prodded the worst part of the bruise very lightly, frowned, and then touched her toes, glancing up to her.

"Between your toes?" he asked.

She nodded, sitting up on her elbows. Her eyes fell to his hands, and she smiled a little; she couldn't see the syringe, because he'd intuitively angled his shoulder so it was hidden, a trick he'd developed ages ago. She sat forward and he immediately shifted more, protecting her line of sight.

He gave her a searching look.

"I want to see you do it," she said quietly.

Han nearly dropped the syringe. He arched his eyebrows, taken aback, and stared at her.

"It's a needle, Leia."

"I know what it is," she answered softly.

He shook his head, and she watched his jaw tighten. He started to lean back, more comfortable, relaxing, and she could see the needle, poised at the little crease between her big toe and the one next to it, for a second, before his shoulder obscured it again.

"No," he said flatly. "Leia, I don't know what you're doing, but I don't want to be associated with it."

Her lips parted, and she looked at him with concern, her heart skipping.

"What I'm - ?" she started uncertainly.

His knuckles whitened.

"You've – there's times when you don't want me touching you," he reminded her. He shook his hand a little, gesturing with the syringe, though he still kept it out of view. "I don't want to do this, and then you start dreamin' about _me_ torturing you."

She closed her lips again, her heart sinking – she understood painfully where he was coming from, and she faltered in her own resolve for a moment – but she didn't think that was going to happen. She thought of the moment when, enveloped in the Force, she'd erased Vader from one of her most beloved memories, and that was what hummed in her head as she anticipated getting a shot – _this doesn't have to be about Vader, because I say it's not about Vader._

It was the smallest place she could think of to start, and there was a thirst in her cells, an ache for the peace that had soothed her in the early moments of that meditation.

"It's okay, Han," she soothed.

She sat up, moving forward, bending her knee a little, and sliding her arms around one of his. She rested her chin against his bicep, and nodded forward, indicating with wordless expressions – eyebrows, a twitch of her lips, flick of her lashes – _go ahead; give it to me._

It was impossible for him to hide the needle, and his hand was tense as he searched her face, and then turned, a muscle leaping unhappily in his temple, to comply. He pressed his thumb against the bone in her foot, and gently held her toes apart to give himself room, and he was quick with the needle; it took less than a few seconds, to pierce the skin, empty the syringe, and deftly withdraw the slim, sharp metal.

Leia watched the swift action, and when the needle touched her skin, she hesitantly tried to tap into that ability to reclaim the way she used to feel about shots – that they were nothing but nuisances that had to be done – but when she delved gingerly into her Force sensitivity, she was paralyzed for a moment with only the memory of the interrogation droid trapping her in a corner.

She drew back from the Force, her grip on Han's arm tight and unforgiving, and pressed her forehead against him. She realized she'd made a soft, strangled noise against his shoulder, and heard a _click_ against the first aid kit as he threw the needle aside.

He was shaking her loose a little, turning towards her, resting his hands on her head.

"Why the hell are you doing this to yourself?" he asked, his lips close to her ear, voice raw and husky.

She clung to his arm tighter for a moment, and then released it, leaning back slowly. She let out a slow, steady breath, blinking, her head settling surprisingly quickly, and she felt – not betrayed by the Force, not fearful of it, but like it sought to warn her, to remind her; she'd taken on too much at once, she needed patience, small doses – she was too close to the hurricane of meditation to be tangling herself in golden threads again right now.

She straightened up slightly and wiped at her face, even though her cheeks were dry. She pushed her hair back, and wrapped her robe tightly around her, trying to think of how to begin, what to say to him – he sat in front of her, so tense, so agitated, and she was suddenly, abruptly remembering that prior to her return with Luke from the Jedi Temple, the last time she'd seen Han, they'd had a nasty fight.

Thinking of it made her catch her breath, and her eyes stung, swimming with tears. She hit her teeth together, clenched them, and then drew her knees up, hugging them to her chest.

"Han, I'm sorry," she said shakily. "I'm sorry about the," she wanted to say _fight_ , she wanted to say _how cruel I am to you sometimes_ , but what came out was – "the kaffe."

He blinked, and his face darkened – not at her, at the comment, and he shook his head sharply, his jaw tightening.

" _That_? That's what you're worried – Leia, it doesn't matter," he said shortly. "It's – it's a – it's just – it's a goddamn ship; who gives a fuck about the ship?" he said – his disregard of the _Falcon_ was so uncharacteristic that it shocked her, drew a short, hoarse laugh of disbelief from her. "I don't care if you pour kaffe all over – "

"Han, I mean – that what you said, that we _weren't_ fighting about the kaffe – "

"I shouldn't have yelled at you about it!"

"—you were right," she said. "It wasn't about the kaffe – "

"I don't care about the kaffe!"

"I wouldn't have been there with it, spilling it, if I'd listened to you – "

"Leia, what's the kaffe got to do with you and Luke – with whatever the hell – happened," he ran a hand over his mouth stiffly and shook his head. "What _happened_?" he asked. "What happened?" he repeated.

Leia took a deep breath, her lips trembling. She pressed them together lightly, and Han leaned forward, interpreting the moment she took to compose herself the wrong way, thinking he'd made her cry. He moved towards her, his expression guilty, and he touched her face lightly, leaning in to press his lips against hers.

"Leia," he mumbled, kissing her lightly again. "The kaffe doesn't matter. You matter."

She nodded, her hands fumbling against his elbows as she brought them up – she felt tangled up in him, and she fought to maneuver her arms so she could run her palms over his shoulders and press them against his neck.

"Okay," she murmured softly, voice catching just slightly. "Okay, Han?" she murmured. "I think I need to start at the beginning," she told him faintly.

He nodded, relieved – yes; he needed her to start at the beginning, he'd been out of his mind with worry, he'd been stressed, he'd been trying to show a stronger face to her father than he actually possessed, because he needed the Viceroy to know that Leia was in good hands. He wanted to hear her talk, and he didn't want to hear her apologize again, because the words were making his head ache – Leia, thinking she was in the wrong, when he'd been the one –

Han nodded again, swallowing hard.

He pressed his forehead against her gently, and closed his eyes a moment, steeling himself.

"You hungry?" he asked – his voice was a bit hoarse, and he lingered close to her a moment, and then he drew back, setting his shoulders.

She took her own deep breath, and shrugged – she could eat, but she wanted to focus on this now, and not something as mundane as food – dinner, or breakfast, or whatever meal it was time for – time? Her brow furrowed, and she bit her lower lip gently.

"I'll start with some tea," she said softly.

He nodded, and drew back some more, sitting for a moment and looking at her. She crossed her legs loosely, drawing them up towards her in a crisscross, and her hair fell messily and knotted over one side. Her robe was loose and slouchy, falling off one shoulder again, but he noted that her face had plenty of colour, and her eyes weren't bloodshot - -she looked, he realized with some surprise, _good_.

Considering the state she'd come home in, and the harrowing hours he'd spent keeping his eye on her, _good_ was not what he expected – though he hardly begrudged her it.

He got up, his spirits lifted a little by that realization, and she slid her arms around her stomach, hugging herself lightly.

"You stay here," he said gruffly. "Don't walk on that ankle yet."

"Ah, will you," she began, and paused; her voice still needed some recovery time, it seemed. "Grab me one of your shirts to put on?" she asked.

He nodded, and she looked down at her hands a moment.

"And, Han?"

He grunted, waiting.

"Would you mind changing your clothes?" she laughed a little to herself, and then looked up to find him looking at her warily, one brow raised. She winced slightly. "I don't know what you've been doing but that…smoky smell," she ventured. "I hate it."

Han looked at her mildly for a moment, and then, to her surprise – and a small amount of confusion – he smiled, and shook his head, as if he was sharing some private joke with himself. His jaw twitched as he nodded, and turned, and she heard him mumble something – it was in Corellian, but it sounded suspiciously like _'that old bastard.'_

Her brow furrowed – her Corellian was slightly rusty, though; she could have been wrong.

She leaned forward to run her own hands over her ankle injury, listening to Han in the kitchen, breathing in and out quietly but deeply – there was so much she wanted him to know. She wanted him to know she was okay, that Luke hadn't done anything wrong, that in spite of how – of the immediate after affects, she had needed that experience so badly, if only to open her eyes to the profound depth of her trauma – because she'd spent so long merely placing it in isolation in her head, controlling it, but never truly having control over it.

She pressed her fingers gingerly against the bruise; the pain was dulled, the medicine already working. She licked her lips, and then looked over at the chrono, finally orienting herself – it was late afternoon she realized, with some degree of shock and awe; it was the time when, on a good, light day, she'd be coming home from the office. It had been close to a full day since her conversation with Pooja, more than a day since her fight with Han, and she'd slept the hours away – wholesome, decent sleep, the kind she had longed for all these years, the kind that had been rare since the Death Star, since Alderaan, and even rarer since her father's return.

Leia sat up straight and for a moment, bowed her head, reflecting on that.

Had Luke given her this, had the Force – had she found it for herself?

She lifted her head and opened her eyes, hearing Han come in, watching him strip off his wrinkled clothing and change into something clean and comfortable. Her eyes ran over him lazily, watching his muscles flex as he moved, lingering on his thighs, then his abdomen, then his chest – finally finding his eyes.

She smiled at him softly, and he ran a hand through his hair, managing a small smile in return. He looked like he'd say something, then he shook his head, and turned to go back for the tea. He stopped abruptly, turned around, and swept his dirty clothes off the floor, carrying them out with him to drop in the washer unit.

Leia looked after him with a bemused look, and then stretched out horizontal across the bed, shifting until her upper body was close to the bedside table on her side. She opened the thin top drawer and pushed some trinkets around, finding, after a moment of unconcerned searching, a spare hairbrush.

She shut the drawer, sat back up, and leaned against the headboard, all disheveled robe and tangled hair, idly running her fingers over the bristles. She lifted it to her hair and drew it through the tangles a few times, hardly noticing the uncomfortable pull against the knots. Han came back in a moment later with a small tray, and she didn't move while he sat everything down on a bedside table. She paused, brush in hand, and he strode over to the closet, crouching down and digging around for a shirt to give her.

She sat forward a little and turned her attention to the tray to see what he'd fixed for her – her favorite tea, the kind that turned deep purple when it was all steeped and ready, and the kind they always seemed to be running low on because she drank it so much.

She smiled faintly to herself and picked up the tea decanter, pouring the hot brew into a chipped, faded mug that used to live on the _Falcon_ , but now found its home in their shared cabinets. Pale violet steam curled up into the air, and Han tossed a shirt against her legs, standing at the edge of the bed and watching her.

Leia paused to disrobe, throwing the wrinkled thing aside to the floor, and slipped his shirt over her head, letting it envelop her and drown her. She got comfortable in it, let the sleeves fall to the edges of her fingers, and used the material to protect her hands from the hot ceramic of the tea mug – and she shifted, crossing her legs, watching him.

He raised his brows, and then he sat down and swung his legs up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard – making a show of settling in for the long haul. He folded his arms seriously and gave her a look that was both expectant and wary, and he cleared his throat almost comically.

"Okay, Princess," he said matter-of-factly. " _Talk_."

Leia smiled a little faintly, lifting her mug to her lips. She tasted the slightly sweet, slightly bitter concoction – this was strong stuff, and often helped her focus when she was overworked or tired or anxious – or all three. She angled her body towards him a little more, and tapped the handle of the mug.

"You don't want any tea?"

He shook his head pointedly.

"Kaffe?"

His eyes narrowed warningly.

"Are you put off kaffe now, for good?" she ventured teasingly.

" _Leia_."

She laughed quietly, but contritely, and flicked her eyes down for a moment, lowering her mug. She cradled it gently in her palm, one hand curled around it, looking at the soothing colour, and then she looked back up, lips falling into a soft, solemn line, her shoulders relaxing. She hesitated, calculating where to start, and began with –

"You didn't hurt Luke, did you?"

Han's shoulder's stiffened a little, but he shook his head, his jaw flexing before he spoke.

"You asked me not to," he retorted flatly. His tone clearly indicated that he was still convinced Luke deserved a nice, jarring right hook.

"You swear you didn't?" Leia clarified.

" _You_ asked me _not_ to," Han repeated curtly – it was the only thing that stopped him from giving in to the urge to go absolutely ballistic when he found Luke casually meditating on the balcony.

Leia took a deep breath.

"Thank you," she said quietly. She traced her finger around her mug. "He knew you were going to throw a fit. He seemed terrified of you," she added, thinking of the way he'd been jittery and panicked the whole way home – checking her head in the lift to her apartment, a frantic mantra in his head – _Han's going to kill me – Han's going to kill me -_

"Good," Han said. "If he ever brings you home like that again, I'll throw him off the balcony," he threatened, deadpan.

Leia smiled cautiously, looking at him silently a moment.

"Han," she said softly, her voice gentle. "It might happen again."

He looked at her incredulously, his eyes hard. She breathed out in a rush and stumbled over her next few words, placating him –

"I could do without a repeat of the bloody nose and the sprained ankle, but the meditation – "

"That's what that was?" Han asked sharply. He swallowed hard, a bitter expression on his face. "He's been running his mouth about _peace_ and _calm_ and _healing,_ he almost had me convinced a few times – and it's – Leia, it made you _sick_. It knocked you out for – do you know how long you've been asleep?"

Leia nodded a little vaguely – she knew she'd slept endlessly and slept well, and she knew, logically, how long it had been, but it was still hard to believe, and there was wonder in her voice when she answered –

"Yes. I haven't had a single nightmare."

Han's jaw fell into a tight line again, but he didn't immediately have anything to say about that. Leia licked her lips slowly, took a sip of tea, and sighed, resting the mug lightly on crossed shins.

"Pooja Naberrie came to see me at the end of my work day," she began quietly. "She wanted to discuss the resolution of – " Leia broke off; the politics were boring to Han; that didn't matter. She found her train of thought, and picked up again: "I'd been – thinking about our fight, and about…Shmi Skywalker's diary. And then Pooja Naberrie was standing in my office."

Leia took a deep breath, and blew out slowly, keeping herself steady.

"It's just – it's felt so overwhelming lately, _everything_ ," she said, her voice small but firm. "Vader, Father, the Skywalkers, the things that happened to me, the truth of my bloodline – it was just closing in. I couldn't escape it. She was there, and talking to me so casually, and I kept thinking – _she doesn't know who I am_ – I kept looking at her and wondering if she remembered Padmé. But I asked her," Leia paused carefully, "about Anakin."

Han shifted a little, crossing his legs. He didn't take his eyes off of her, and Leia's nails scratched against her mug lazily, picking at the faded ceramic.

"She looked me in the eye and talked about this – larger-than-life hero she remembered," Leia said hoarsely. "This man who was unfailingly loyal to her aunt, and who played with her as a child," she recounted.

She pursed her lips, shaking her head back and forth.

"She, I – well, Pooja has no idea of the history, but I was hearing her talk, and it was like hearing you tell me to read the diary, or – I don't know," Leia said faintly. "Read it, or keep letting it haunt me. Just suffer."

"That's not what I said," Han broke in immediately, grimacing. "I don't want you to suffer."

"I know," Leia said, her voice hardening a little. "I'm not putting words in your mouth; I'm telling you what went through my head. Listen to me," she said, eyes boring into his, "because I want you to know that this was what I needed."

Han grit his teeth, wishing for a moment that he hadn't said anything that remotely made this about him, and he nodded. Leia lifted one hand and pushed her hair back, fingers slipping through it loosely, curling into the ends for a moment. Her hand fell to her shoulder lightly, and then she touched her lips.

"I turned to Luke because I just couldn't stand it anymore, Han," she murmured. "I wasn't sleeping. I wasn't able to just – compartmentalize anymore. There's too much complexity. I could see…how much it was hurting you, too."

Han's immediate reaction was to shake his head, open his mouth to interrupt, to deny it – but he bit back his response, and controlled himself; she was talking, he'd wanted to hear her talk – he needed to be quiet.

"The Force is not my area of expertise," Leia said very quietly. "I don't know what I was expecting, or if what happened with Luke in the temple was normal, but I _needed_ it."

She paused, and her brow furrowed. She looked confused, bit her lip, like she was parsing something out, and then she caught his eye.

"I can't put it into words."

"You?" Han asked huskily. "Can't find the words?"

Leia laughed a little, and gestured with her hand, pressing her fingers to her abdomen thoughtfully.

"You know what it's like to feel nauseous – that miserable, dizzy, awful sick kind of feeling," she said, more of a statement than a question.

"A hangover," Han noted, deadpan.

Leia gave him a look, but nodded.

"You feel better after you finally vomit?" she went on callously. "Even if getting sick is the _worst?"_

Han gave a shrug of acknowledgement – everyone knew that feeling. There was nothing good in feeling nauseous, there was only an ill, heavy feeling, coupled with the dread of knowing how unpleasant retching was – but he knew as well as anyone the grudging relief that came after coughing it up and washing your mouth out.

"That's how I feel right now," Leia said succinctly.

Han swallowed the urge to remind her that she _had_ vomited, in a sense that was distinctly less metaphorical. He didn't think she needed the reminder, though – and he considered her edgily. His jaw relaxed a little, but there was still a nervousness coiled in his stomach; he didn't trust what had happened – he didn't feel like his concerns were assuaged.

"That's it, then?" he asked, irreverent, a little sarcastic. "One bad trip with Luke and you're _cured_?"

He said the word 'cured' like it was a myth, a ridiculous notion – and Leia appreciated it. She took a long, reflective sip of her tea – it had cooled to the perfect temperature now, still warm and comforting, but not quite scalding, and she let his words settle between them before she answered.

"I'm always going to have nightmares," she ventured slowly. "I'm always going to be a little – broken, and have splintered, sharp edges, and I don't know if – accepting the reality of Anakin, and who he became, and Vader, and what he did, will ever get easier, but I was stuck in this ferocious, stubborn hell where I just stared at the flames and waited for them to go away."

Leia's knuckles turned white as she held her mug, and she bit her lip a moment, her voice so surprisingly steady, and calm.

"I was so in control, and so together, during the war because I had other flames to focus on – and I put those flames _out_ ," she noted, because that was important – she had thrown herself into extinguishing the Empire, its chokehold, its injustice, extinguishing everyone else's struggles and strife, but she had just been waiting for her personal fires to burn themselves away. "I had myself convinced I'd wake up one day and it would all have finally gotten better."

Han looked at her for a long time. He leaned forward silently and took the tea away, setting it aside on the bedside table. Turning onto his side, he reached for her, taking her hand, tugging her forward, his dark eyes like fine velvet, familiar and comforting and warm. He ran his thumb over her wrist lightly, squeezing her hand.

"You're not broken, Sweetheart."

Leia compressed her lips, turning her hand in his, pressing her palm to his tightly. She tilted her head, accepting his contradiction – walking back on her own words.

"You're right," she answered softly. Her lips formed a silent word – _but_. "I'm not the girl I used to be. I know that – I've known that, for a long time, and I've _said_ it, to Father, to Mon Mothma," she listed. "In here," she pressed two fingers to her chest, nails twisting in the material of her shirt, "I've been waiting for the pivotal moment when I miraculously heal, and all the damage evaporates, and I go _back_ to that girl."

Leia swallowed hard.

"It's not going to happen. It's _never_ going to happen," she said huskily, "I should have been focusing on confronting everything that has happened to me, and how that's a part of who I am _now_."

Leia pressed her lips together and pulled her hand back, reaching up to run her hands through her hair again.

"I don't even know if I want to be her anymore."

She took a deep breath, and then put her hands together, interlocking her fingers, looking at her nails, and then looking away.

"Luke showed me how to detangle everything that gets so knotted in my head," she said shakily. "I closed my eyes and I could pick out memories that have been drowned – I could amplify how much I _know_ my Father and Mother loved me, and soothe my doubts," she went on.

"Leia," Han began thickly, warily. "You were a _mess_."

Still looking off to the side, he watched her throat move as she swallowed again. She nodded.

"I did too much at once, and Luke – I should have started smaller," she confessed. "Han, I was feeling everything at once."

She brought her hand to her mouth for a moment and touched her lips, and then she rested her palm on her knee.

"I didn't have a clear idea of what I wanted to confront so I unleashed everything," she said quietly.

She pressed her lips together hard, and looked back at him carefully.

"But I got a _taste_ ," she assured him earnestly, quietly, "of tranquility."

Han looked back at her wordlessly, and she felt a swell of emotion, needing to tell him what she meant – to explain –

"I _ripped_ Vader out of a memory he'd tarnished, Han," she said hoarsely. "I took it _back_."

She leaned forward, lashes quivering.

"It was brutal," she whispered, "you have to understand – I _needed_ it," she repeated.

She placed her palm against his cheek.

"I know I scared you," she confessed. "I've put you through hell and all you've ever done is try to throw me buoys when I'm drowning."

Her voice cracked, and Han turned his head into her palm, kissing it. He shook his head, leaning forward, reaching out to pull her towards him. She uncrossed her legs and let him put his arm around her, his weight pressing into her side, satisfying and warm, and he leaned over her, running his palm over her ribs, pressing his lips to her jaw lightly.

"'M sorry, Leia," he told her. "You didn't have to go off to that – Temple – because I was being a dick," he mumbled. "C'mon," he soothed. "You're not hell. This isn't hell."

Leia tilted his chin up and kissed him lightly, pressing her lips to his in a silencing gesture, languidly increasing the intensity of the kiss. She ran her hands over his neck and his jaw, and pushed him onto his back, rising up and leaning over him, her nose brushing his when she pulled away.

"Have you been listening to me, Han Solo?" she asked in a hushed, calm voice. She brushed her fingers through his hair. "Always thinking it's about you, you smug nerfherder," she murmured teasingly. "I didn't do this to make you feel bad, or prove a point." She kissed the bridge of his nose gently. "I faced my demons because I wanted to," she murmured.

She pressed her lips against his and was struck, clearly, by his presence in her meditations and visions, his strength, and all the fight in him that had belonged to her since before either of them ever knew it. She thought of every time she'd still been able to rely on him even after a nasty fight, and of every time he hadn't flinched when another terrible detail of her past had reared its ugly head.

Her lashes brushed against his skin as she pressed closer, her lips resting against his jaw for a moment, finding his ear.

"If you hadn't been so constant, I'd never have found the conviction."

Her lips pressed to his jaw again, down his throat tiredly, but it was her words that pierced his skin and eased all of the guilty, stressed tension in his muscles – it was so similar to what her father had spoken about, from his perspective, but to hear Leia say it, to hear the same sentiment in her voice, meant more – and he was able to release a little of his distrust of the Force and his animosity towards Luke, because when she laid her head on his chest contently, he could feel how – stunningly at ease she was in this moment.

Leia put her arm over him, ran it over his stomach and up to his chest, stopping just over his heart. She closed her eyes, her mind clear, searching lazily for words she wanted to say – words that somehow encompassed the way she felt.

"Han," she murmured quietly. "You mean so much to me."

It was, oddly, a stronger sentiment than telling him she loved him – it felt that way, for the time being. She had known love all her life – a good family, wonderful friends, a home – and they, surely, loved her unconditionally, but Han's persistence and frustration, his initial friendship, his commitment – it was a different sort of love, and that someone could feel so passionately for her was both humbling, and wildly inspirational.

She nudged her foot lightly against his shin and managed to tangle her legs up with his, her eyes wide open as she enjoyed the moment of simply being with him. He seemed thoughtful, reflective; he shifted back onto his side and slipped a hand under the shirt she was wearing, sliding his palm over her stomach and up to her breasts in a touch that was more – purely intimate, than sexual.

"I want you to tell me when you're going to go do that stuff," he said finally. "Leia, don't just – drop off the planet on me," he said gruffly. "We'd been fighting, and Bail said you missed a council meeting," he shook his head. "At least tell me."

She nodded – fair request, and Luke himself had seemed a little wary, at the Temple, that she hadn't told Han where she was going, and what she planned on doing.

"I won't be diving right back into that," she admitted quietly – she needed to talk to Luke, more explicitly, about what she was willing to work with; she understood things, implicitly now, about herself, and about the nature of the Force, and those things were going to inform how she progressed from now on.

She reached up to brush her knuckles against his jaw and paused, something in what he'd said striking her as odd –

"'Bail'?" she quoted. The name felt strange on her tongue – she had always found it absurd to refer to her father by his first name – he was always Father, or Dad, or – infrequently – Daddy.

She thought of him, standing there yesterday, stricken with grief and worry; she vaguely remembered Han physically smacking him, and she cringed a little – Han had never fully explained what had been going on when Luke brought her home.

"What was Father doing here last night?" she asked, eyeing him warily.

Han propped his head up on his hand.

"Insulting my mother," he answered, deadpan.

Leia's mouth fell open slightly.

"He – _what_?" she asked dryly. "You told me there was no fighting," she remembered, eyes narrowing.

Han's deadpan look softened a little, and he shook his head, a short, teasing smile touching his lips. Leia compressed her lips, uncertain.

"What's been going on, Han?"

Han ground his teeth thoughtfully for a moment. He decided she could use some humor in her evening.

"Your dad made me some toast," he told her seriously.

Leia looked bewildered. She propped her head up, mimicking his stance, and her hair fell over one shoulder messily. He reached out and touched the edges of it lightly while she tried to figure out if he was joking.

"Father can make toast?" she asked, faltering.

"No," Han said cheerfully. "He incinerated some bread and tried to feed it to me. I kept it. It's in the living room."

"You _kept_ it," Leia repeated witheringly.

"It belongs in a museum," Han retorted. "I'm going to sell tickets for your people to see it. 'Viceroy Bail Organa's Efforts in Breakfast.' A masterpiece. A social commentary."

Leia stared at him with a helpless, still bewildered expression, and suddenly felt like she'd slept through a whole year instead of merely a day – Han sounded practically _chummy_ about her father. She shook her head wordlessly, and his fingers twisted playfully but gently in her hair, his eyes finding hers with an expression that was impossible to gauge.

"Is that why you smelled like smoke?" she asked faintly.

Han shook his head blithely – and she got the distinct impression he was finding her mystification amusing.

"We smoked cigars," he told her bluntly.

Leia blinked – she had no idea Han kept cigars in the apartment, considering he knew how she felt about the smell, but strangely, her immediate reaction wasn't to question why the hell he'd been casually sharing cigars with her father, but to admonish, on reflex –

"Han, he's not allowed to have cigars," she paused, trailing off – her mother had banned them years ago, after one of the royal physicians said Bail's lungs seemed just a little too… _'sooty_ ,' he had said.

Han arched a brow, intrigued - so, the Viceroy had swindled him into giving him a forbidden object. Interesting.

Leia shook her head a little, and ran her tongue along her bottom lip, consternated. He watched the thoughtful, concentrated look on her face a moment, and smirked, shifting his elbow a little and taking pity on her.

"He wanted to talk to me. He finally succeeded in his quest to get me alone," Han snorted, relenting. He paused. "He sure as hell wasn't going to leave after you came home like that."

Leia looked grim, her face losing a bit of colour. She rubbed her forehead with resignation – she wished he hadn't been there, just like she wished he'd never overheard her nightmare. It wasn't that she was ashamed – she knew she couldn't help it – she just wished he didn't have to be subjected to it, as well.

Looking down at the sheets between them, she sighed.

"You – didn't kick him out?" she asked.

Han shrugged.

"I didn't wanna pick that battle," he said evasively.

Leia looked at him softly, and then her lips moved soundlessly, eyes flicking towards the door.

"Is he still here?" she asked, and then a moment later, she closed her eyes heavily, and winced. "I missed a work day," she stated.

She felt Han start laughing before she heard it, and her eyes flew open, a little indignant, and a little curious. He grinned at her, shaking his head, and she felt a rush of delight to see that charming smile, and that light in his eyes – they'd been too tense lately, too full of desperate worry and concern.

"I can't believe it took you this long to notice that," Han drawled. "And you just took the day without fighting me – who are you, and what have you done with my princess?" he joked.

Leia bit her lip, her expression worried.

"I needed the sick day; I couldn't possibly have functioned," she said, with surprising clarity and self-awareness – and he fervently hoped that stuck around. "My – schedule, though, and the High Command – what - ?"

Han tugged on her hair lightly, very gently, to quiet her before she got too worked up. He looked at her for a moment, and then cleared his throat.

"Your old man took your place," he informed her gruffly. "Said he'd handle your meetings and your excuse."

Leia's eyes searched his, and she lifted her brows a little. Han nodded.

"I gave him a pair of your heels and a white dress to wear. Couldn't get the hair right, but I don't think anybody noticed. Good lookin' guy in your red lipstick, though."

Leia gave him a scathing, narrow look, rolled her eyes, and turned onto her back, flinging her hand out lightly to smack him in the ribs. She tried to envision the scenes – her father and Han, sitting together and talking, somehow involving themselves with toast and stories about Han's mother – and she couldn't, it was just too divergent from the narrative she'd come to expect between them.

She swallowed hard, something like hope simmering in her chest. She took a deep breath, and turned her head, looking at him intently.

"Are you two friends now?" she asked – her tone was a bit prim, a bit skeptical, and somewhat teasing, but deep down it was an earnest question; she didn't have a clear comprehension of what they'd gotten up to while she slept, but if it had done any good –

Han hesitated.

He seemed to equivocate with himself, but his answer came fairly quickly, and with certainty:

"We understand each other."

Leia reached for his hand silently, brought it to her lips, and kissed his wrist reverently – gratefully.

It was one thing not to worry about then, at least in a small sense – she doubted Father and Han were best friends, but the alternative was her finding out she'd interrupted another bad confrontation between the two, and they were seething all over again.

Han moved closer and snuggled up to her in a burst of affection, pushing his nose against her neck until his breathing tickled her, and she laughed slightly, tilting her head up. He wrapped his arm around her, hugged her, and then kissed her jaw, lips lingering at her ear.

"He _did_ call my mother a whore," he informed her seriously.

Leia sighed pointedly. She felt Han grin smugly, and surmised that the incident was more complex than that – perhaps she'd ask her father to recount it later, and decide then where the truth fell, but considering Han didn't seem ready to challenge Bail to a duel, she left the comment alone.

"He's comin' back later," Han said. He loosened his grip on her and leaned back. "If you're up for it, you should see 'im," he added.

Leia nodded. She turned onto her side and curled her legs up slightly, her eyes on Han's clean but wrinkled clothing for a moment. She breathed in and out once, deeply, and then caught is eye.

"It's your turn to shower," she advised softly.

What she meant was – he needed to wash off the drama and stress of the past day, take his own step back, breathe, get some real sleep – he may have been asleep when she woke him earlier, but she highly doubted he'd gotten any real rest while he kept a vigil over her.

It was her turn to take care of him – and she meant it, though she didn't protest when he shook his head and leaned forward to kiss her, and the scratch of his unshaven stubble against her cheek was a tangible reminder of the selflessness that ruled his feelings for her.

* * *

Leia thought there was an unusual calm simmering in the apartment, though she supposed it could be merely an extension of the personal serenity she was feeling overall. She was unsure how long it would last, but she felt the best thing to do was embrace it, rather than dread, and plan for, its end.

She suspected _Han_ was more exhausted than he let on – he hadn't gotten any real sleep while he was with her, which translated into him having been awake in a stressful sort of stupor for more than a day.

At her behest, he showered, shaved his face, but stopped short of actually going to sleep – _too early_ , he protested gruffly; _sleep schedule's already screwed_. He wanted to stay up to a decently late hour and get back on track – she understood, that was fair; she was bound to have an odd few days ahead of her, too, as it was fast approaching the end of a work day, and she was feeling well-rested and energized.

She half-heartedly turned on the terminal in her office while Han scraped together a light something to eat – fruit, and yogurt, and a sandwich, little more than he'd tried to get her to eat this morning; with amusement, she found a quick message from one of her aides – _Your Highness, Affairs are being handled by Viceroy Organa; office has been instructed not to bother you – full briefing will be provided on your first day back._ The message was sent with proper procedure, but Leia sensed the loyalty of her aide in it, the unspoken murmur of – _let us know if we need to override Bail_. She turned off the console - -she was starting to feel a slight urge to get back to work, to pour over what she'd missed, but there was no point now, no point at this hour.

Instead, she turned on the holo in the living room, and curled on the couch, watching the continuous cycle of news programs. She abandoned a half-eaten bowl of yogurt and granola and devoted herself to a peach instead – one of the sharp, tart yellowish ones imported from Chandrila.

It felt strange to be home in the middle of the afternoon. It felt – undisciplined, and unnatural, and it was altogether unfamiliar to have nothing to do.

Han, for all his talk about staying awake, stretched out on the couch next to her and was asleep with his head in her lap and his arm-twisted around her folded legs five minutes later. He seemed completely unwilling to let her out of his sight – and she accepted that, she understood it; there was a _strangeness_ to the way she was so steady and perspicuous about what she'd confronted. He wasn't used to her embracing that she was in pain and she needed it assuaged.

She ran her fingers through his hair soothingly, her other hand occupied with the peach, and silently multi-tasked – sorted her thoughts, listened to the news, wondered what she had missed. She catalogued stray thoughts in her brain – _I need to talk to Luke; is he off shift yet?_ – _I should speak with Pooja again_ – She kept her thoughts in order, though, and prevented herself from getting bogged down; she knew it would do her wonders to still linger in the quiet and calm lull.

Biting into the peach absently, Leia paused at the remark of a newscaster from a less serious news station –

"—of course, Princess Leia's absence raised eyebrows, not that Viceroy Organa was forthcoming on the matter," the being was saying – and then, a clip of her father, accosted by a reporter, the tail end of his words _"—personal day – "_ and then the absurd question thrown at him next _"Any chance the Princess is expecting, Viceroy?"_

Leia's teeth scraped against the flesh of the fruit slowly. She arched her brows, watching the grainy image over her father's face.

" _Expecting what?"_ he fumbled, distracted, with what he was doing.

" _A baby,"_ was the wheedling reply. _"Morning sickness taking her away from us?"_ goaded the reporter.

She watched a startled look cross her father's face, and he just stared at the man, frowned a little disapprovingly at the deeply personal line of questioning, and shook his head without saying another word. Unable to help herself, Leia laughed, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle it – her poor father, matched against this wildly salacious world of invasive Media that Alderaan had never known.

Han shifted his head, grumbling something. He cleared his throat.

"What's funny?" he mumbled.

"Hmm," Leia murmured, threading her fingers lightly through his hair. "I'm having a baby," she answered nonchalantly.

Han turned his head to look up at her with extreme concern.

" _What_?" he demanded hoarsely.

She nodded her head blandly at the holovision.

"Channel Eight, explaining my sick day," she said – _sick day_ ; the phrase was foreign on her tongue, unprecedented; when did she take sick days? _Never_ – and yet how often had she desperately needed them?

She felt Han's shoulders relax heavily against her legs, relieved, and he shook his head, turning to scowl at the screen. He rubbed his jaw, spotted the peach in her hand, and gave it a pointed look. She held it out to him, and narrowed her eyes in a glare when, instead of taking it, he bit into it like an animal, his teeth catching her fingertips.

She tightened her fingers in his hair and pushed him away.

"Scoundrel," she admonished, withholding the fruit.

He reached up this time, and snatched it easily, and she sighed, shaking her head. She ran one of her fingers along her bottom lip, rubbing the residue of peach juice off, and flicked her eyes back to the news – now they were harping on about a new military accomplishment in the Outer Rim – Lando appeared to have had quite a week.

"Don't get any of that peach juice on me," Leia warned mildly.

She realized, almost immediately upon saying it, that he'd interpret the words as a direct invitation; it was barely a few seconds before she felt the juice drip deliberately onto her skin just above the knee.

Leia rolled her eyes.

"Damn," Han swore, feigning contrition. "Here, I'll get that – "

He licked it off, his tongue inching suggestively higher on her leg until she reached down and grabbed it.

She put it back in his mouth. She pressed her fingers against his lips, and he smirked at her, eyes glittering charmingly. She smacked his cheek gently, and slid her fingers through his hair – she sensed he felt getting her back into the bedroom with him would give him a perfectly valid excuse to fall asleep early, but she didn't have any interest in more sleep – she did feel the need to speak with her father, and to speak with Luke.

Her father needed reassurance, at the least, but it was Luke she wanted to speak with on a more definitive level.

"Go to bed, Han," she suggested.

He looked at her thoughtfully, and handed her back the peach – which she, for a foolish second, thought meant he was acquiescing, but instead he slid his arm around her waist and maneuvered her onto her back, nudging her knees apart as he did so. He ended up between her legs with his chin resting on her abdomen.

His hands slid under her, brushed the hem of her shirt, and played with the hemline of her panties suggestively. She caught her breath a little, and he pressed his lips warmly to her stomach, kissing her through the material of her shirt. He pushed the shirt up lightly, baring her skin, nipping his teeth lightly against it.

"Come with me," he murmured, "to bed."

"I've been in bed all morning."

He shrugged.

"Might as well make a day of it," he said, his words spoken into her skin, dissolving into her hipbone, his lips moving over her temptingly.

She brought the peach to her lips again, taking a thoughtful bite, her hand still moving comfortably in Han's hair. She flicked her eyes at the droning news, the speculation about politicians, about laws, about the new government – anything and everything. The sound ran together, blurring into irrelevance, and all she could think about was Han.

He rose up on his knees, crawling forward, taking the peach from her hand and setting it aside. His face inches from hers suddenly, he nudged her nose with his, eyes heavy with desire, and her hands fell to his shoulders, pulling gently at his shirt.

"You got to let me make up for that fight, Princess," he drawled quietly.

He pressed his lips to hers and she ran her hands over his neck, drawing him closer, dropping one leg off the side of the couch so he had more room. Her hands slid down his chest quickly, resting at his waist, anchoring his hips to hers.

She detected lingering guilt in his kiss, the residue of his concern for her, and she pulled him closer still, breaking the kiss for a small gasp of breath, and resuming it, with reassurance, with confidence – she'd already told him it wasn't his fault, that she just needed him to be there – and here he was, and she wanted him so badly it hurt.

When he stopped for air, she shifted her head, and leaned towards his ear.

"Han," she murmured. "I'm in a good place right now."

He looked at her, intent for a moment, and nodded slowly.

"I want to keep you in a good place," he said huskily.

She tucked her fingers into his belt tightly, her breath catching again, and she nodded back.

"I needed that fight," she said, echoing earlier sentiments.

He swallowed hard – he was still uncertain, still seemed a little wary. She knew he'd never begrudge her any peace of mind, but because her behavior was different than usual, she sensed he felt the encounter with the Force had only numbed her, only served as a masking agent; he seemed to be waiting for the fall-out, still – and perhaps he was right to, but she didn't feel it coming; she felt in control, and she felt stable.

That wasn't to say everything bad, everything difficult, evaporated – but she had a better understanding of healing, and herself.

She caught his eye, and his jaw was tight, a little defeated – she read his thoughts without actually doing so; she'd never invade his privacy in that way, if she even could, but she knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. He didn't have the power Luke had to help her, and show her to wield her own power, and it was eating at him, because he felt like he was falling short of what she needed – and it was strange, and just barely comical, that a tiny part of Han's anxiety over the whole incident boiled down to something that hadn't reared its head since Endor – _jealousy,_ when it came to Luke.

She ran her fingers over his lips and he kissed them, nosing her hand out of the way and bending to kiss her jaw, and her throat, and her shoulder. Han was secure in his ability to physically please her where he wasn't always secure in his ability to be the right thing emotionally – and she could forget, sometimes, that Han had been left, and abandoned, and deserted, so many times by so many people that he easily felt threatened.

Where Leia had so frequently had people who loved her taken from her against their will, Han's entire life had been littered with people who didn't give a damn if he lived or died.

He martyred his own needs constantly, and this was one of those moments where she saw it so clearly; if he ever lost her, he'd relentlessly blame himself, if anything ever happened to her, he'd likely never forgive himself, and the thought of not being able to help, or be enough for her, etched lines into his face, around his mouth when he grimaced, and near his brow, when he frowned.

Han gave her so much strength on a daily basis, and she knew he'd avoid making her feel burdened with anything else if he could help it – and because of that, she was able to pierce through his guarded eyes and interpret his unease with such clarity.

Luke was her brother, and the Force was an entity she had to learn to coexist with, but Han was her soul mate, and she wished there were words that could promise him, once and for all, that nothing was going to change that; nothing was going to threaten his place in her heart.

But sometimes, Han understood actions more than he listened to words.

She reached for the fastener at his belt, and he pulled back, surprising her a bit. Shaking his head wordlessly, nodding vaguely at the door.

"Bed," he said gruffly, his voice low. "Your old man said he'd come back later. He has the code."

Leia's heart jumped into her throat, and she stared at him – it seemed so – unreal, that Han had just leapt directly into considering her father, and planned for him being around – when he'd previously been resistant to Bail completely, hostile even – for some reason, she felt like crying. He wasn't joking, he wasn't making a mockery of it – he was serious.

She smiled a little, her voice shaking –

"If he really is working my schedule, we have hours before he comes home," she quipped.

Han looked amused, but shook his head, giving her a look – he wasn't about to undo all his progress by risking the Viceroy walking in on him fucking Leia on the couch.

He kissed her quickly, and sat up, running his hand over her knee possessively.

"I need more room than I got on this couch," he drawled, cockiness edging back into his voice.

Leia sat up languidly, raising her eyebrows – she could concede he had a fair point, though she'd had a perfectly lovely time every other time they'd had sex on this couch. She brushed her hair back and smiled, reaching to click off the holovision.

He pulled her foot into his lap – it was still a little tender, but the shot she'd been able to get through had done miracles with healing, and the bruise was beautifully faded. He touched it reverently, like he was reminding himself of what she'd done – for him, and for their relationship – and then he cast his eyes over her intently, at last catching her eye, and flicking his towards the half-eaten fruit she'd abandoned moments ago.

"You'd better bring that," he suggested throatily.

Her heart took a few scandalous leaps, and she reached for it, thrilled, as always, by what he had in mind.

* * *

Later – though it wasn't really late; the sun hadn't even set on the day yet – Leia donned a comfortable pair of leggings fashioned from some kind of exquisitely soft animal hide and pulled Han's shirt back on, leaving him asleep in bed behind a tightly closed door.

She wandered through the apartment, cleaning up the remnants of food they'd eaten earlier, quietly marveling, again, at being absent from work. The early evening felt starkly different when she was thoughtfully observing its approach rather than racing to get a hundred things done in the hopes that _maybe_ she could get home at a decent hour.

With a glass of very mild wine, she resumed her place on the couch, holovision on but muted, a datapad resting idly in her lap. She palmed through it with quiet interest, two fingers brushing lazily against a faintly purplish mark Han had left on her collarbone, one hand balancing her wine glass on her wrapped ankle, which was tingling pleasantly with the last of its healing.

An aide had sent her concise little summaries of what had gone on today, likely behind her father's back, and Leia was perusing them and cataloguing them accordingly; she had done her part in taking much-needed time to recoup, but she had no intention of falling behind, or even appearing to.

She looked up, noted the time scanning across a news program, and tilted her head back a little, pressing the edge of her glass to her lips, hesitating as she considered reaching out to Luke. She hadn't meddled with the Force, even with him, since the quick moment in which she'd tried to manipulate her feelings regarding needles, and as that had proven too much for the moment, she was wary.

Still, she reminded herself that – she'd reached out to Luke dozens of times before, and nothing bad had ever really come of that particular small gesture.

 _Luke?_ – her touch was hesitant.

His response was immediate – _Leia!_ There was a pause, and she felt the hum of his presence, scrambling for the right thing to say. Words tumbled through her mind, and then organized neatly, echoing in her ears: _How are you feeling? How_ are _you?_

His concern was earnest, palpable, and she took a deep breath, carefully choosing her words. How to explain - ?

 _I feel steady_ – she decided that summed things up fairly well, for the moment.

She heard his sigh of relief in her head, his satisfaction at hearing that.

 _I want to talk to you_ – she ventured.

 _I don't blame you_ – Luke's response was somewhat dry, wary. _I told Han I'd check back in later. Is that okay?_

Leia drew her nail over her datapad thoughtfully, tilting her head from side to side without a word. She felt Han still needed to distance himself from the negative attitude that had overwhelmed him concerning Luke, and she didn't want Luke to have to take any flak, as he clearly already felt bad enough.

 _Would you mind if I come to your apartment?_ \- she countered.

Luke's response was quick, wry – a little grim: _Han's that pissed at me, huh?_

Laughing to herself, Leia shot back – _He'll get over it, he always does_ – she placated. She already had him half-distracted and completely asleep, anyway. His temper just happened to have a hair trigger, and it usually flared at the sight of whatever had most recently pissed him off.

There was a chiming sound at the door, and Leia looked over, her brow furrowing – she started forward a little, but it opened; ah, Han had left it unlocked so that Bail's access code would let him in. Distracted by the sound of him entering, Leia missed half of Luke's words –

… _and then I have nothing else, is that good?_

She fumbled, furrowing her brow.

 _What time?_ – she requested clarification.

The muscles in her head throbbed unexpectedly, and she touched her temples, frowning – were Force sensitive beings capable of getting some sort of ethereal sprain from extensive, untrained use? She winced, and nodded to herself when Luke repeated that he was available after twenty-one hundred – easy enough for her to do; after sleeping a day away, she had no hope of powering down early tonight,

 _Luke, I'm sorry_ – she began – "Father," she said out loud, as he entered the room, and then she frowned, unsure if it had gone through to Luke, too – _Father just walked in._

 _Your voice is glitchy_ – Luke sounded bemused, but a little worried, and she answered – _My head hurts._

 _Ah._

She felt, faintly, subtly, a brush of serenity from him, and the ache in her head relaxed immediately – and then he closed the connection for her, fading back into his own head, out of hers, and she breathed out in relief, looking up, her eyes bright, at her father.

He stood just at the entrance of the living room, a bit cautious, a bit bewildered – he'd been watching her concentration, her focus on something he couldn't see. He looked harassed, and wrinkled, and wary, and hopeful, and Leia straightened her shoulders, sitting back – and offered him a plain smile.

Relief cascaded over her father's face and he stepped forward, a smile starting around his eyes. He stopped, folded his arms, and breathed out tiredly.

"You managed to duck away early," Leia remarked, full aware of the talent that sometimes took, with her schedule.

Bail sighed, consternated.

"You know, the Media asks you the most absurd questions," he noted, exasperated – he'd had his fair share of annoying ones, since his disastrous first press conference, but stepping into her shoes for a day had been an entirely new experience.

Leia inclined her head in placid acknowledgement, and then tilted it at the holo, arching her brows.

"I did see a few of their theories for my absence," she said dryly.

"None of which I gave credence to," Bail said loftily, and quite proud of it.

He took a few more steps forward, and Leia shifted, lifting her glass, making to get up.

"Do you want something – "

She trailed off as he waved his hand, demurring silently. He stood a little to the side still, almost hesitantly, as if waiting to be invited to sit down. Leia sat back cautiously, watching him with a kind of gentle amusement

"Sit down, Father."

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, and moved forward again, doing so. He adjusted his ceremonial robes and turned towards her, looking over her worriedly. His gaze was appraising, and not in a way that made her uncomfortable – it reminded her of the concern he'd shown when she was very young, and he thought she was tiring herself out with politics and spycraft and things teenage girls shouldn't have to occupy their heads with.

Leia tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and reached for the handheld console on the table, completely muting the holovision. There was an image of Mon Mothma on it now, speaking kindly from the place of honor in the Senate arena, and Leia turned to the side, facing her father.

She rested her glass against her knee.

"I know I must have given you a fright," she began carefully – but he interrupted, not rudely, but urgently, waving one of his hands in a hurry, shaking his head.

"Please, please, don't worry about it – I certainly hope you aren't going to apologize," he said quickly, a strained expression on his face. His eyes creased with worry, and he shook his head emphatically.

Leia hesitated – only because she realized that she _wasn't_ about to apologize, and that was interesting, because there were many, many times when she had apologized to Han, anxious and mortified, for being _difficult_.

"I simply want to know that you're alright," he went on fervently. "As, ah – well, as alright as you can be?" His words were a little uncertain, disjointed. "You – you look better," he finished faintly, trailing off.

His jaw tightened and he pulled his hand into a fist, resting it on his knee – and Leia understood, implicitly, that he had no idea how to make it clear that he didn't think any less of her.

"You look," Bail ventured earnestly, his eyes on her face, a little confounded, "at…ease."

He was looking at her curiously, and Leia compressed her lips wryly, reaching up to run her hand over her hair – she got the impression he was distracted by the style, if only because he'd never seen something so simple on her, or any other Alderaanian woman in his immediate circle.

She had simply run a brush through it, and pulled it back into a neat, purposefully messy ponytail, leaving only a few tendrils falling around her face – it was a style she'd never before been able to wear, with hair as long as hers had been, and she wondered how different it must make her look; more approachable, more – normal.

She held up her wine glass in a quiet toast, and then flashed a small smirk at her father, illustrating her state of mind with an old adage often thrown out by royalty when anything seemingly untoward occurred –

"I am _quite_ recovered from my ordeal."

Bail snorted appreciatively – he'd long lost track of how many times he'd heard those words from one of his sisters after something altogether minor had happened to them, such as a broken nail, or a poorly stitched new gown.

"You slept well, I hope?" Bail ventured, rubbing his hand over his jaw – he hadn't thought to shave this morning, and was on his way to looking as unkempt as Han had earlier. Leia noted the disarray with a warm smile – it was so, so singularly energizing, to remember, and embrace, how much they cared about her.

"I haven't slept that well in ages," Leia answered honestly. She furrowed her brow, fingers sliding up and down the stem of her glass as she considered it for a moment. "It seems counterintuitive that I managed to just – sleep, after all of the," she paused, "histrionics. Doesn't it?"

She caught his eye, and correctly guessed his consternation. He nodded, but shrugged his shoulders.

"I suppose there's only so long you can retreat from battle," he remarked sagely. "When you finally fight, at least it's over."

Leia tilted her head.

"I never ran from a fight, during the war," she murmured slowly. "I had to be dragged away from them. _Han_ usually did the dragging," she noted, laughing a little. "He wasn't a coward," she mused, "just…less of a martyr." Leia took a sip of wine. "It's a little…disconcerting, hearing it suggested I ran from my battles."

Her pride bristled, and her father grimaced, leaning forward purposefully.

"Leia, I meant no insult – "

Leia waved her fingers lightly.

"No, Father, you're right," she said quietly. "I have been retreating from confrontation. I've been," she flicked her wrist pointedly, "skillfully redirecting, until everyone around me bears the brunt of it." She tilted her head at him. "You, Luke," she sighed. "Han."

Bail shifted, solemn. He looked around, his brow knitting slightly, and then looked back to her.

"Where _is_ Han?" he asked – and a very subtle edge in his voice seemed to indicate Bail would be immensely displeased if he found out Leia had been left alone.

Leia gestured vaguely towards the hall, angling her hand to indicate the back part of the apartment.

"He's in bed," she said. "I don't think he actually got any real sleep."

Bail shook his head seriously.

"No, that man was too on edge," he said matter-of-factly. "Bloodshot eyes – he was in here grinding his _teeth_ , damn close to pulling his hair out over," Bail started to trail off at the transfixed look on his daughter's face, "you," he finished uncertainly, wary that he'd perhaps been too cavalier.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"General Solo," he said, slipping back into formality, "has it very bad for you, Lelila."

Leia blushed, pulling her glass against her chest a little self-consciously. She was surprised to hear Han had been so emotionally evocative around someone other than herself, but it enlightened her, a bit to what sort of interaction he and her father had going on while she was out.

"I don't enjoy seeing people in distress," Bail said mildly, "but I won't soon forget his actions, his – well, hmm," Bail faltered, trying to put it into words. "Anyway, as I said. His feelings for you are unquestionable."

Leia nodded, biting her lip.

"I know," she said. "I know, and he's just," she broke off, and sighed. "He's a very strong person."

Bail tilted his head.

"So are you, Leia," he said quietly, his expression serious.

Leia made a dismissive noise, shrugged, took a sip of her wine.

"I have to be," she said flatly. "Han just…he's made of iron, or steel, or something," she said softly. "Nothing cracks him."

Her father's brow furrowed – because from where he sat, it seemed like Leia cracked him pretty hard. He said nothing, wondering where she was going, and Leia sighed, lifting her hand, rubbing her brow pensively, and then transferring her wineglass to the table, and abandoning it.

"He's been through hell, too," she said, not entirely sure why she was speaking about this, suddenly, to her father of all people. "His childhood, and losing his mother – do you know, that part of his court martial at the academy was a _lashing_?" She said the word in a hush – the thought was barbaric, and Han had gotten fifty with a cat o'nine tails whip, the scars from which still marked his back in lines she could trace gently with her fingernails.

Leia shook her head thoughtfully, running her hand over her knee. She curled her legs up, and leaned towards her father earnestly.

"He was tortured with a scan grid," she said softly. "They didn't even do that to me." _I had to watch them do it to him, though._ "Carbonite," she whispered, shaking her head. She wasn't even sure what Han's time in Carbonite had been like; he never mentioned it – and not in the way she rarely spoke about her past trauma, only to have it manifest in rages and nightmares, Han didn't even seem to have _those._

He woke up in cold sweats sometimes, silent and tense, and she thought in those moments he seemed lost and confused, vulnerable even, but he never said anything about it.

She took a deep breath.

"He's so – solid and impenetrable. It's always left me a little awestruck."

Bail nodded, silent for a beat. He folded his hands in his laps, thinking about that.

"I don't like to admit this very often," Leia said quietly: "I don't know what I'd do without him."

Her father smiled gently.

"He's a good man," he said fairly – honestly.

Leia rested her chin on her hand and her elbow on the back of the couch, blinking at her father brightly. She let out a breath softly, drawing her lip between her teeth for a skeptical moment, laughing under her breath.

"I close my eyes for paltry twenty-four hours or so, and the two of you are best friends," she teased, though with a tone of disbelief.

"That's a strong term," Bail protested hastily, giving a small smile. "I would say that – Han and I have merely come to – "

"Understand each other?" Leia supplied.

Bail looked at her warily.

"Well, yes. That's – actually verbatim what I was going to say."

Leia snorted softly.

"Your new boyfriend said the exact same thing."

Bail gave her a dark, withering look.

"I don't think I like how smug you are, young lady."

Leia's eyebrows shot up at the moniker.

"The time for that has passed, Father, I'm in my _twenties_ ," she retorted smartly, arching a brow to underscore the reminder.

"And yet, I'm still your elder – and your father," he returned in that old, familiar paternal tone. He narrowed his eyes. "Didn't you want me to be on good terms with him?"

Leia feigned an exasperated look.

"I was hoping for more cordial handshakes, I hardly expected you to start inhaling _cigars_ with him."

Bail lifted his chin.

"That's men's business, child," he told her sternly.

She started laughing, turning her face into her hand and closing her eyes. She laughed until her jaw hurt, muffling the sound as best she could so as not to wake Han, and she held on to the rush of amusement and easygoing humor that lingered when her laughter faded – to joke around with her father – to feel this comfortable with him –

Abruptly, her eyes filled sharply with tears, stinging and impossible to hold back – though by no means were they the harsh, angry, painful tears she was used to.

She wiped her hand briskly at her eyes, looking at her fingertips thoughtfully, and her father leaned forward to take her hand, his expression clouding.

"Leia?" he asked, amusement wiped from his tone.

"It's okay," she soothed, looking up from her hand confidently. She blinked back some more tears, and smiled at him reassuringly. "I'm _not_ upset – I'm relieved; I do want you to get along," she said earnestly.

She licked her lips and put her hand to her chest for a moment, fingers curling around the collar of her shirt. She looked at him searchingly, seizing onto the memories of him in her vision – hand holding hers tightly while she learned to walk, worried about her when she was sick, always there to mentor her, and protect her – she knew, with such clarity now, that he'd never let anything happen to her out of neglect, he'd only been as powerless as she was to stop it.

"All these years," she said softly. "I've missed you so much, Father."

He nodded, his grip on her hand loosening a little. His worry cleared a little, and he breathed easier. Instead of releasing her hand, he placed his other over hers, holding it tightly.

"It's important to me that you know – I wanted to do the best I could for you. I wanted to keep you safe, and if there was anything I could do – anything in my power – to find a way to change – "

Leia was shaking her head.

"The past _can't_ change," she said simply. "I'm going to do a lot better now, accepting that – coming to terms with the fact that _railing_ against everything that has happened to me, and to the people I love, is not going to fix the damage."

She looked down at their hands, and lifted his up, turning his palm over. She looked at the lines on his hands, dark and deeply creased, and traced them thoughtfully, thinking of children's games she'd played with Winter back on Alderaan – reading the threads in palms, telling the future, not knowing then what hers would hold.

"Father," she began quietly, "I'm not going to forgive you for your mistakes," she looked up and caught his eye, saw the stricken look on his face, and did not let it faze her – she plowed on: "because I don't think you sinned against me."

His face changed again at that, caught off guard – uncertain. Leia swallowed hard, and went in:

"I've been thinking about Luke a lot, in the past day," she confessed. "How Ben Kenobi took him to Anakin Skywalker's home world, left him with his own family, and never made sure his surname was changed – Ben Kenobi barely even altered his own name. Luke was – well, I can't speak for him, I don't know how he feels, but it looks to me as if he were raised for the slaughter by a pair of old Jedi who cared more to finish a fight than to keep him safe from his father's sins," Leia paused, "and you, you took every precaution to keep me from harm. You changed my name. You gave me protection and a life and choices, and I chose the path that led me to Vader. I chose the Rebellion."

Leia pressed his hand between hers tightly.

"It wasn't your fault. It wasn't mine – and Father, I think the most important thing is, that we fought on the _right_ side of this war."

Bail looked at her almost helplessly for a moment, and then leaned forward and hugged her so tightly she found it hard to breathe. She smiled into his shoulder, though, again comforted by such a familiar, paternal hug – and this one was more wholesome than the last good one she'd had from him, because her mind was more settled overall, soothed by a significant breakthrough.

Leia pulled back, and brushed her lips against his cheek chastely, reaching up to swipe her hands across her cheeks lightly – they were dry, but it was a habit. She tucked hair behind her ears, and compressed her lips, straightening her shoulders.

"Speaking of Luke," she said gently. "In case you were feeling any of the same animosity Han was – don't," she warned neatly. "His intentions are never anything but good and more than anything, he stopped me before I hurt myself."

Bail nodded intently, processing the information – truth be told, he hadn't known what to think; he wasn't well-versed in the dynamic between Han, Luke, and Leia that had seemed extremely significant the other day, and it hadn't occurred to him to be angry at anyone. In the moment, he hadn't even had the energy to be affronted that Han had smacked him away he was just – purely concerned.

"That was – that engagement with the Force, that was a normal reaction?" Bail asked. "I ran around with a fair few Jedi in my day, but I don't recall anything like that."

"I think there's more at work here than just an ordinary Jedi," Leia answered honestly – and it was at once, both easy and difficult for her to admit; she and Luke were the progeny of one of the most powerful Force users in recorded history, and it was immutable truth, even if it was hard for her to swallow, considering.

Leia wrapped her arms around herself lightly and shrugged.

"It must have looked like he – tortured me," she reflected, shaking her head a little. "It was almost – it doesn't seem like it, but there was so much good in that experience," she said neutrally, "everything else was like a toxic allergic reaction," she finished grimly, shaking her head.

She closed her eyes lightly, thoughtfully. The thing was, even the worst parts of it – Vader, hissing at her that he'd chosen his fate, goading her with his cruel taunts about Alderaan; the lieutenant's neck snapping – suffocating red threads, and dark temptation – it was all a lesson in making a conscious _choice,_ every day to not be like _him_.

"The good aspects were worth it," she said quietly, "they're a silver lining."

Her father put his hand to his face, resting his chin in his palm.

"That's life in general, isn't it," he remarked – just a remark, not a question, no philosophical inquiry for her to expand upon.

Leia sighed quietly, a wordless, wondering look on her face.

"I don't know," she murmured finally. "I think that might be a terrible platitude to ask people to believe."

"I don't mean so much that 'everything happens for a reason' or 'everything is bearable if something good comes out of it – that sort of glorification of suffering is distasteful, offensive even,'" Bail amended. "I don't think – it can be said that good _came out_ of anything that happened to you. It just so happens that good things happen to you _in spite of_ all the bad. And what I'm saying is – you, and all of us, really, shouldn't shy away from feeling happy when we can."

He looked down heavily.

"I know how much guilt there can be in survival," he confessed. He hesitated. "Whatever you've struggled with behind closed doors, you've been an anchor for all of surviving Alderaan. Handling your affairs today was more eye-opening than I imagined," he said quietly. He looked at her with respect – "You must know how you inspire people. How much you are – admired. They won't be offended to see you happy."

Leia flushed, and compressed her lips – she felt uncomfortable with the praise, and she bit her lip, searching for a way to lighten the heaviness of the conversation.

"Not if I marry Han, apparently," she joked hoarsely.

"That's ridiculous," Bail said bluntly. "From what I've seen of late, you could marry a Nerf Herder and no one would lose an ounce of respect for you – no one who matters."

Leia looked at him brightly, and smiled radiantly.

"I've told you before," she said softly. "I call myself happy, most days."

Bail swallowed.

"All I have ever wanted for you, Lelila, is happiness."

Leia rested her cheek on her palm, and smiled at him gratefully. He returned the smile, and she felt more at ease than ever – and he was relieved to see her composed, and smiling, and coping with the things he hadn't been able to protect her from.

She turned to look at the holovision, running her hand over her hair again, and looked down at her abandoned wineglass, lonely on the table – she turned to her father, her eyes glinting.

"You're sure I can't get you anything, Father?"

"I'm quite alright – "

"Toast, perhaps?"

Bail immediately glared at her, lips plummeting into a frown.

"He told you," he griped gloomily.

"He told me," Leia agreed. Han had showed her, as well, and refused to let her throw the specimen away - he'd wrapped it in clear cellophane and put it in a cabinet, insisting he wanted to show Chewie. Leia was sure it would come back to haunt Bail at some point, as well. She leaned forward, arching a brow. "You need to prepare yourself – if Han starts to like you, the ferocity with which he makes fun of you directly increases. It's how he shows affection."

"I can't wait," Bail said, deadpan.

He started to say something else, caught sight of the bite mark on Leia's collarbone, and narrowed his eyes prudishly, pointing at it stiffly.

"I suppose _that_ is how he shows affection to you?"

Leia glanced down, and put her hand over the mark, leaning back somewhat contritely. Bail scowled a little, and looked pointedly to the holovision. Leia brushed her hands over the mark, shrugging. She smiled indulgently, her tongue caught between her teeth, and wondered if – in the time she had before she was to see Luke – she could get her father to tell her how all of his alone time with Han had gone.

* * *

Leia stood outside of Luke's apartment, well aware of the access code, and yet choosing to ring the chimes instead. She had sufficiently learned her lesson – even though Luke was expecting her, and was unlikely to be entertaining female company.

He opened the door in sweatpants, straightening the line of a t-shirt he'd clearly just pulled on. There was a towel hanging around his neck, and his hair was damp – he was either fresh from a work out or a shower; Leia wasn't sure.

He beckoned her in.

"Hey," he greeted, swinging the towel off his neck and running it through his hair. "Uh, sorry if I smell," he said, with a wince, and Leia gave him an amused look. "I was working out, and I thought I'd have time to shower, but I got caught up in it."

"Ah, Jedi gymnastics. Hanging from the ceiling by your toes, were you?" Leia quipped, folding her arms.

"Yeah, the rush of blood to the head's like a spice trip," he returned swiftly, smirking. "Want me to teach you?"

Leia smiled, and shook her head a little; Luke flung his hand out, waving the towel at his sitting room.

"Come sit down," he said pleasantly. "Want something to drink?"

"Do you still have a sprawling selection of water, water, and water?" Leia answered, deadpan.

"There's blue milk," Luke retorted defensively. "Er, and Jansen and Antilles left a bottle of beer."

Leia, sitting down on the couch, shook her head to herself.

"No, Luke – I'm fine," she demurred honestly.

He had no type of table – and the floor was covered with datapads and holographic maps – plans for something, which she looked at idly, though not too invasively, in case it was private and he'd forgotten to clean it up.

She heard him fumbling around, and he strolled in with a frosty bottle of water, choosing to sit not with her on the couch, but cross-legged on the floor, his back straight with the sort of impeccable posture that her royal aunts had spent years instilling in her – Aunt Tia had even tied her to a chair once, to keep her shoulders back, until Breha found out about it and told them Leia would learn not to slouch on her own terms.

She'd been right – Leia had the revelation quite suddenly, when she was thirteen and seated next to Winter at an official dinner, that slouching made her look smaller than she already was – and from that point on, her posture was perfect.

Luke took a gulp of water that seemed oddly determined, placed it in front of him, and held up his hands.

"First things first," he began, a little wry: "Does Han know you're here?"

Leia laughed outright. She leaned forward a little, her hair dancing and brushing the back of her neck as she nodded – she'd left it in the simple ponytail – and clasped her hands together.

"He demands," she snorted quietly, "that you return me in the condition I left in."

Luke arched his brows, amused.

"Weirdly objectifying for Han, isn't it?"

"He's a little out of it," she allowed, though she'd sensed Han was trying to ease his own tension by making jokes – she hadn't wanted to wake him, but she also knew it was best to let him know where she was, in case he woke up while she was gone. "Besides, I assured him I wasn't off on another," Leia touched her temple lightly, "what did he call it?"

"Vader Hellscape," Luke supplied dryly.

Leia compressed her lips.

"Imaginative," she remarked. "Possible title for my autobiography, I think."

"Technically, true," Luke sighed, feeling too cautious to even grin at the jest – he winced, and an expression of guilt, and regret, flicked across his face. He leaned forward a little, gripping his ankles tightly, and looked at her intently, his concern evident in his eyes. "Leia, I didn't mean for it to be that bad. I didn't mean for you to get hurt," he said quietly.

Leia clasped her hands and rested them on her knees.

"I know," she said simply.

"I _mean_ it," Luke continued, almost as if he hadn't heard her. "You probably think – well, I've just pushed and pushed, and advocated the Force, and then _that_ happened, and I really want you to know that I've been through that, too, and it gets clearer, you gain more balance and control – "

"Luke," she interrupted softly. "Luke," she said again, waiting for him to fall silent, and look at her. "I _know_ ," she repeated.

He looked at her quietly, his expression conflicted for a moment, and then he lifted his shoulders.

" _What_ do you know?" he asked finally, deciding to let her guide the conversation instead.

Leia breathed out quietly, tilting her head. She thought about the things she'd told Han, and her father, and she thought about the fine layer of calm that seemed to have settled over her.

"That it can be," she ventured. "Cathartic," she chose the world carefully. "It _was_ cathartic."

Her brother nodded slowly. Leia looked down at her intertwined fingers.

"I could feel you there, even when I lost control," she told him. "You were anchoring me; I could sense it. You knew when enough was enough."

Luke frowned.

"No, I gave you too much at once," he countered. "I wasn't patient. If Master Yoda was here – "

"He's not," Leia said gently. "You're the only one left – those old Jedi left you with so much responsibility," she said, and paused, unwilling to offend Luke, and the people he considered beloved mentors, "and they were relics of their failed endeavors."

Luke swallowed hard, reaching up to ruffle his hand through his hair thoughtfully.

"Ben and Yoda meant well," he said quietly.

"I don't doubt that," Leia agreed. "I only mean – you shouldn't judge yourself against them, necessarily; their prowess, and _their_ codes; and I don't want you doubting yourself because of me, either," she went on. "I understand the kind of strength and power you must have running through your veins, if you can command the Force the way you do – and it helped," she said earnestly. "Luke, it helped."

His eyes were wide, large, liquid, and hopefully, searching hers apprehensively.

"I feel so much better," Leia said, pressing a hand to her ribs near her heart, fingertips twisting into her shirt. "I don't know how long it will last, but I…understand more about myself, about the specifics of what," she closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, "of what haunts me."

Luke swallowed hard.

"You were – really asleep, all that time?" He asked hopefully. "Han said – well, Han thought I was trapping you in a coma, I think," he said, with a small laugh, "but he said – you slept? No nightmares?"

"No nightmares," Leia agreed heavily. She smoothed her hands over her knees thoughtfully, and hesitated. "I – could almost feel them, lurking in the depths of my subconscious."

"It could have been that you were just exhausted," Luke allowed. "There's a point – there must be, where your body is just so worn out, your brain doesn't even have the energy to scare you."

"Hmm," Leia snorted dryly. "That hadn't happened before."

"Well, my bias is obvious," Luke said softly, "but you spent a lot of time embraced in the Force and I think – once the sensory overload, and the shock of all the darkness wore off, the lingering presence protected you."

He held up his hands a little reverently, priest-like, forming them as if holding an invisible globe in his hands.

"You've taken a step of vulnerability in it, and it's – ah, known your presence, welcomed it," he looked at her serenely, "it considers you part of it now."

Shivers cascaded down Leia's spine, and she crossed her arms across herself, tilting her head back and forth – it wasn't something she was sure she wanted, yet – the brutal meditation had given her perspective on the things she couldn't change, and the ways she could ease her own suffering, and perhaps direct her own narrative, but it hadn't necessarily changed her mind.

"I want you to know where I am right now," Leia said quietly, "with – this: the Force. Your – intentions for me, as it pertains to – becoming a Jedi."

Luke straightened a bit, sat forward – she felt a pang of guilt at the look on his face, but she stood her ground, holding his eager gaze.

"It's not what I want," she said, respectfully, but firmly. "I learned a long time ago that _never_ is a foolish word, but I will say I don't _think_ it's ever going to be something I want."

Luke swallowed hard – his spirits fell, but didn't plummet, and though he felt disappointed for a moment, the feeling was replaced quickly with curiosity, and he tilted his head, nodding pensively –

"Why?"

"I like what I do," Leia said softly. "I like politics; I like diplomacy – and I am not convinced that the Force has a place in the power dynamics of government," she paused, "but more than that, it's tainted for me. It's always going to be tangled up in Vader's actions, Vader's choices – the way Vader used it against _me_."

Leia paused, and pressed her palms together.

"I'm interested in meditation," she went on after a moment, "in small doses, and to help me deal with what I need to deal with, but I don't want it to be a part of my life the way it is a part of yours."

Luke shifted onto his knees, looking at her intently.

"You're nothing like Vader, Leia," he said quietly. "You aren't _anything_ like him."

Leia said nothing for a long time.

"Not Vader," she agreed.

She fell silent again, and Luke grit his teeth, anticipating what she was going to say –

"Anakin," she said.

He let out a breath harshly, shocked, and then somehow, not shocked at all. Bail had said it – and somehow, in all those black and gold threads of the vision, red and grey smoke, she had realized it.

"Don't let what he did make you reject the Force, Leia," Luke pleaded. "You aren't genetically predisposed to his choices."

Leia nodded mildly.

"I know," she said simply, "because I'm stronger than him." She paused for a moment, and then shook her head. "I don't mean in terms of power with the Force; I mean emotionally, psychologically. I know that killing begets killing and revenge only fills the world with more monsters. There's so much that's inexplicable about Vader – the thirst he had for subjugation, the indifference to genocide – but the most significant moment of his life, when he made his choice," Leia held up her hand and twisted it symbolically, clutching her fingers in a fist, and pressing it to her heart. "I _felt_ what drove him to that. I understand him."

She swallowed painfully, her words sticking in his throat.

"It was an evil choice. It was the wrong choice – and everything he did following it is inexcusable – his reign was one of unjustifiable horror," she said hoarsely, "but I understand the very core of the emotional impetus – it's a cloying, choking desperation to save what you love and what you believe in."

Transfixed, Luke stared at her, and she took a deep breath to finish –

"And because I understand it, even if I vow that I would never choose the route he took, I don't want a lightsaber in my hand, and I don't want the central focus of my life to be the Force. I want to be able to feel emotions a little recklessly. I think I need that. I think I deserve that. And your Jedi order demands balance where I may never quite have it."

Leia tucked strands of hair behinds her ears, blinking rapidly.

"Teach me to meditate, and to heal myself," she said, "teach me to guide the Force however it comes _naturally_ to me – but I don't want anything else. That's my decision. This is the legacy you inherited. I inherited Padmé's."

Luke drew his legs up and hung his arms over them, staring at her as his thoughts dashed around in his head – she wanted some kind of neutrality in the Force, and he needed guidance on that, his own meditation –but he'd do what he could for her, and he wouldn't push; for now, hearing her introspection, and hearing the – grudging acceptance she had of where she'd come from, and how to move forward, was enough for him to know she was, as he'd told Han, going to be okay.

Luke swallowed hard, and got up, leaving his water bottle abandoned on the floor.

"I have an invasive question," he said, folding his arms unassumingly. "You can blow me off if you need to."

She inclined her head.

"It's highly likely that, if you have children, they'll be Force sensitive," Luke said carefully. "Will your decision stand for them, as well?"

Leia's jaw tightened - she always felt nervous at the mention of children, shaky and anxious, uncertain, and she was aware of herself to know she wasn't in a place to be considering that right now. She shook her head a little, and pursed her lips, and Luke winced, realizing it was obviously not a topic she liked.

"My decision pertains to me," she said diplomatically.

Luke accepted that for what it was – and he sensed that she wouldn't prevent any children she might have from learning from him; she trusted him, and she trusted his care for her, and anyone else who would be a part of their family.

Luke sat down next to her, leaning back, resting his elbow on the back of the sofa.

"Han needs a crash course in getting more comfortable with the Force," Luke said frankly. "I know how you're feeling, and I respect your choice not to engage as a Jedi, but it's still part of who you are, and Han's wary of it. He's too mercurial. He can't – he needs to be more open, even if in the end, it's for no other reason than his kids will have this power."

Luke smiled a little.

"And they'll sense it, if their father thinks they're little freaks."

Leia laughed hoarsely. She looked over at Luke, and arched a brow.

"And what if, in this hypothetical situation, all of my children are Force _duds_ , because Han doesn't have any sensitivity?"

Luke looked pained at the thought, but shook his head.

"I don't think it works like that," he said. "Not with our bloodline, at least," he said dryly. He smirked. "Force Duds," he repeated. "I'm going to start calling Han a _dud_."

Leia sighed.

"Don't," she requested. "He'll take it upon himself to do something extremely manly to counter that idea." She narrowed her eyes. "By manly, I of course mean – "

"Potentially stupid, and definitely dangerous," Luke supplied.

"It's like you took the words out of my head," Leia quipped good-naturedly.

Luke smiled at her earnestly, completely heartened at where the conversation was going. Leia smiled genuinely, and then gestured hesitantly at the conglomeration of stuff on the floor.

"What is all that?" she asked.

"Ah," Luke said. "My research and plans for my trip to Naboo," he told her. "I'm also going to go back to Tatooine, and comb over the Lars plantation for – anything else I might have missed," he said slowly, "and then, Polis Massa, where we were born."

He trailed off, and then tilted his head at her.

"Maybe I'll find even more answers, or at least more of the whole story," he ventured. "That – in the end, having the whole history is the best way to move forward, isn't it?"

Leia nodded slowly.

"Yes, I think it is," she agreed softly.

She looked at the mass of things, and felt a twinge of sadness that he was going to disappear again.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Oh, I'm not sure," Luke said. "I'll go in increments, since I still have military duties," he said logically. "It doesn't have to be immediately, either," he said hastily. "If you need me here, and want to get started on meditation – "

She shook her head quietly; no, she was going to take some time before she dove into that again, and she was going to spend every more time settling her head about all that had come out of _this_ time.

"What is it, Leia?" Luke asked curiously.

"Well," she began, "I'd like you to be at the Gala for Alderaan," she said slowly. "You're to receive an award."

Luke nodded.

"I can make it a point to be here for that, of course," he said easily. He arched his brow at her. "But that's not your main concern."

Leia considered him, and then she drew her legs up, shifting and facing him, mimicking his posture. She touched her chest, as if she were reaching for a necklace, and Luke waited patiently, sensing she wasn't hesitant, but savoring the moment.

"Han and I are getting married," she revealed.

Luke's eyes widened – his arm flew out, and he grabbed her wrist, squeezing excitedly. His eyes went immediately to her fingers, and she curled them in, waving her hand with a blush.

"He gave me a necklace," she clarified, and Luke looked confused. "It's a long story," Leia said faintly, and he dove forward and hugged her tightly, grinning from ear to ear.

"Leia, that's _fantastic_!" he exclaimed, his happiness muffled in her hair for a moment as he hugged her.

He pulled back, still grinning – and it was infectious, she smiled brightly, too.

"There's no date yet, or plans, but I can't get married without you there," she said.

Luke beamed.

"I wouldn't miss it! I'd come back in a heartbeat," he said earnestly.

She held up her hand, smiling a little anxiously.

"I – well, let me explain; Father wants this to be a rather – a traditional affair, Alderaanian," she said.

Luke winced knowingly – Han would hate it. Leia tilted her head.

"There's a – in our weddings, the bride has something called a groom's witness. It's almost always a brother – but if there's no brother, it's a trusted male friend. The position is sort of – well, it's almost tongue-in-cheek, and it's a relic of the days when Alderaan had armies - you're there to remind the groom he's being watched," she said, laughing a little. "You know, in case he dishonors me." Leia paused. "I'd like you to be mine."

Luke made an amused, strangled laughing noise.

"I'd get to stand there the whole time glowering at Han and threatening him?"

Leia looked down, compressing her lips in amusement.

"I said, it's a _symbolic_ remnant of an old time – "

"I'm in," Luke said loudly, ignoring her. "Han's suspicious of my lightsaber anyway, wait until it's glowing at him – what?" he broke off, as Leia gave him a prim, withering look.

"You can't possible think you're going to be allowed a _weapon_ at a traditional _Alderaanian_ wedding," she pointed out dryly.

Luke bowed his head.

"Oh, yeah," he remembered.

Leia nodded.

"As I said, there's nothing concrete at the moment, but it's very important to me that you'd be there."

Luke nodded earnestly, beaming again – and he meant it, he wouldn't miss it for the world, not his sister's wedding. He knew that was something guaranteed to make her happier than she'd been in a long time, and he would enjoy seeing it.

He swallowed hard, and he reached for her hand, taking it tightly.

"Leia, I'm," he started. He took a deep breath. "I'm so relieved this didn't ruin your opinion of me," he said seriously. "Last night, when you wouldn't speak to me on the way home…even though you set Han straight, I was still afraid," he broke off again. "You're the only family I have. You're vitally important to me."

He nodded for emphasis.

"Even if we've had our differences about all of this."

His meaning was unspoken, but understood – their differences about the Force, about Vader, about how close they wanted to be to their roots in general. She nodded back at him, turning her hand over in his and squeezing back.

She felt there was nothing more to be said; she afforded him some contrite silence on her part, because she had been so dismissive about the way he moved forward in the world, and the way he chose to bear the past on his shoulders – and she hoped he knew that she didn't think less of him because he chose to devote himself to the Jedi way of life while she still skirted the mere edges of the Force itself.

She and Luke just weren't the same person; they didn't share the same experiences and the same trauma, though now she tended to think they could both better navigate the differences because, in the end, very far back, they did share the same origin.

He leaned forward, pressed his palm unexpectedly to her forehead in a sacerdotal gesture, and she was at ease – sleepy, even.

Luke smiled wryly.

"To get your sleep schedule on track," he advised smartly, and then leaned forward, and gave her a platonic kiss on the cheek, sitting back purposefully – proudly, satisfied with how things had turned out.

Leia arched her brows.

"And that?" she queried, gesturing at her cheek – _what was that for?_

Luke smirked at her.

"For _luck_ ," he said.

Her brow furrowed vaguely, and then the memory was vividly clear, loud and picturesque in her mind's eye – the Death Star, heat of the escape, frightened nineteen-year-old girl hoping a chaste kiss was going to give this strange farmboy the courage he needed.

She smiled at Luke gratefully, thinking that was such a long time ago – and yet _luck_ had never been the thing driving them, any of them – she had fought, tooth and nail, with her own power, and determination, and thirst for justice, to keep her head above water and win wars and emerge victorious, and it was that same strength of character that would keep her standing in the aftermath.

* * *

 _aha. so, my intention was not to give any sort of "the end everything is fixed ta-da!" impression with this and i hope that's clear! and i hope it's understandable now why i've been saying it's winding down / coming to the end - we've done what we can with this initial part of "post-war moving on" you know? anyway, as it goes, the rest is kind of like this: a "loose ends" chapter, the gala chapter, and (perhaps a post-gala chapter) definitely an epilogue_

 _feedback appreciated, as usual_

 _-alexandra_


	29. Twenty Eight

_a/n: it's entirely possible i finished this in record time. and here's the strange thing: everything i wanted to include in this chapter is in it, and it contains all the moments i want it to, etc. etc. but ... i'm not sure it turned out right. anyway - onward._

* * *

 ** _Twenty Eight_**

* * *

Leia and Han returned to their usual work schedules without personal fanfare, though they were faced with furious curiosity from the press – never mind that Leia was presiding over the closing of the first round of Tribunals two days after her absence, a monumental achievement in New Republic justice. No, despite that significant event, all the Media wanted to know was – inexplicably – whether or not they had both been absent because they had _eloped_.

 _[Where would they get that idea?]_ Chewie had asked through a mouthful at lunch, and Han just shrugged – Bail certainly hadn't given it to them, he'd been extremely circumspect when he was taking Leia's schedule for the day.

Given his usual reluctance to have anything to do with the press, Han was suddenly struggling with a dangerous desire to mouth off to them, if only because they kept asking him such ridiculous questions, and he kept coming up with responses that would likely scandalize the Viceroy – and Han personally felt he had reached a point in his rapport with said Viceroy that allowed for some good old fashioned scandalizing.

Leia, however, seemed to feel her father needed a bit more time to cook in the newfound understanding before he was well done, and had informed him, point-blank, that if he publicly made any of the jokes he kept making under his breath and in her ear, she would make him wish he was never born.

As it stood now, Han was satisfied with having been born, and everything that had happened since then which led him to Leia, especially with her most recent breakthrough, so he obediently refrained from informing a reporter, in a wildly suggestive tone, who asked him if he'd had anything to do with Leia's absence that he'd had her _tied up_ all weekend.

Leia had also informed him – well, not so much informed; she had casually remarked that he needed to have a civil conversation with Luke in the next few days. It took him about a day to grudgingly accept that she was right – he'd been hard on the kid, and that was evidenced first and foremost in the way Luke seemed to be on complete radio silence in regards to Han, as if he didn't want to test the waters.

That was rare, and that was uncomfortable – Luke was easily one of his best friends, had always been akin to a brother, and was eventually going to be a literal brother, at least under the law. Discord with Luke did tend to leave a prickly, uncomfortable feeling under his skin, and it was always amplified because Luke was so forgiving and eager to mend things, so on the very day Leia was in closed court proceedings, Han made his way straight to the Rogue Squadron's hangar in the late afternoon, having already checked the records to see if Luke was on duty.

He'd been taking on a lot of extra drills and watch shifts lately in order to bolster his awarded leave time so he could set off on one of his quests, and he was exactly where Dodonna's pristine military logs for the day said he would be: Hangar 8B6, Military Headquarters – he was crammed down in Artoo's slot in the X-wing, his teeth clenched in concentration as he worked on something.

Han was about to shout up to him when a hand clapped down on his back and he was distracted by a loud, smug laugh –

"Hey, _General_ ," greeted Wedge Antilles, throwing out the title with about as much respect as Dodonna gave it, though in this case, Antilles' disdain was infused with amusement and friendly affection, whereas Dodonna's was pure resentment. "Haven't seen you down here with us _lowly_ Rogues in a while," he drawled.

"Not since you got crowned prince," snorted Gavin Darklighter, smirking at Han. "Or was it – was it _prince_ , Antilles?"

"King," Wedge corrected seriously. "Then, I heard he was out two days ago 'cause Viceroy Organa castrated him."

"Hmm," Darklighter sighed, shaking his head critically. "Kind of a setback."

Han shook off Antilles' hand and glared at him; the other man winked smugly and strolled around, pretending to stroke a beard, looking Han up and down loftily.

"Looks like the same guy," he assessed.

"Haven't heard 'im speak yet," Darklighter noted. "Maybe he's a few octaves higher."

"Alright," Han growled, shooting him a look, too. "Cut it out."

Antilles shoved his fist out and mimed holding a microphone.

"General Solo, how is Princess Leia coping with the loss of her boy toy?"

"Aw, give him some credit, Wedge, call 'im a manservant."

"Well, Gavin, my lad, I think he's a boy again if he's lost his – "

Han smacked Antilles' invisible microphone away.

"I still got everything that counts," he said aggressively.

"Still _sounds_ like the same guy," Wedge noted.

He leaned against Darklighter's shoulder and they stood, eyeing Han in a mock scholarly fashion, fingers tapping their chins.

"Channel eight's wrong then," muttered Darklighter.

"Indeed, indeed," agreed Antilles, in faux seriousness. "Must be channel fourteen that's got it right – you stole the Princess, took her to some seedy courthouse on an underground level, married her, and old Organa had to pretend to be her to save some face!"

His speech was gleeful, and Gavin dramatically went forward on one knee, grabbing Han's hand and pretending to frantically search for a ring.

"Where's the rock, your Lordship?" he demanded.

"Did the flowers in your bouquet bring out your eyes?" trilled Antilles, comically fluttering his lashes at Han.

"The aristocracy is going to be in such a _tizzy_!" wailed Darklighter.

Han narrowed his eyes at them – kriff, Darklighter and Antilles had smart mouths on their own, but together – he'd forgotten; he had been too far removed from the crew he used to run with during the war, lately.

"I outrank you, Gavin," Han drawled. "You wanna be court martialed?"

"Look at Sir Royalty, pulling rank!" snorted Antilles.

"For some manly teasing?" Darklighter demanded, affronted.

"For using the word 'tizzy,'" Han said seriously.

Antilles snorted, and jerked his thumb at Han.

"I'm with him on that one – ay, _Luke_! The hero of the Battle of Yavin is here," yelled Wedge smugly – he was, naturally, an equal opportunity jokester, enjoying taking the mickey out of literally anyone around him, Luke being a favorite target.

Darklighter laughed loudly – while most people did, overwhelmingly, consider Luke to be that particular hero, his closest friends liked to insisted he had nothing to do with it – if only to bring him down a peg, in Wedge's words.

Luke, however, popped his head up, looking around innocently.

"Chewbacca?" he asked.

Han arched his brow, a little surprised at the quick wit, and Antilles and Darklighter howled with laughter at Han's expense. Luke grinned and hoisted himself out of Artoo's little nook, turning to back down the thin ladder laid up against his ship and sliding down the last few rungs with ease. He wiped off his hands, smacking his palms together loudly, and nodded at Han in greeting.

Darklighter slung his arm around Luke's shoulder good-naturedly.

"We were just giving old Han here a hard time about the soap opera he calls life," he said solemnly.

"Y'know, how he can't hang out with us anymore 'cause he's got to do fancy general things and behave for Princess Leia's daddy," Antilles added.

Darklighter frowned, concentrating:

"And here I thought the news said _he_ was Princess Leia's daddy."

Han's hand collided with the back of Darklighter's head, delivering a good smack of reprimand, and Luke shook his head, glaring mildly.

"That's my sister, you know," he defended, as Darklighter grabbed the back of his skull good-naturedly – he was one of the few whose respect for Leia was so well-known that he got away with more casual joking.

Incredulous, Darklighter looked at Antilles, and Antilles rubbed his hands together gleefully, both of them suddenly looking like they'd hit the jackpot.

"Did he just - ?" Gavin began, feigning shock.

"Oh, he did," Antilles agreed, advancing.

"What?" Han asked warily.

"Commander Skywalker just initiated a line of mockery entitled 'Reflections on Long Lost Siblings and Problems Incurred Amidst Such Tragic Situations,'" Wedge said loftily.

"In the vernacular," Darklighter drawled: "Jokes about that time on Hoth Luke was in love with his sister."

Luke gave them a very red-faced, withering look, shaking his head – he had no intention of letting the dynamic duo get into _that_ , and it seemed Han, amused as he was that the ribbing had shifted from himself to Luke, wasn't interested in hearing it, either. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Scram," he ordered. "Or I _will_ court martial you," he added, deadpan.

Antilles and Darklighter shared a look, and grinned, giving him identical salutes as they straightened up – it didn't take much to get them to ease up, seeing as it was the end of their shift and they had better things to do than hang around –

"Give our regards to the lady," Antilles said gallantly.

"Yeah, tell Commander Organa we miss 'er in the trenches," Darklighter said, and his tone was one of utter respect – Han inclined his head in answer, happy to do so. "Hey," Darklighter called, walking backwards, hands cupped around his mouth, "and feel free to keep Luke occupied, if he can't make it out with us later, _we_ might get a chance at some tail."

Antilles snorted, and their faded voices echoed around the hanger unintelligibly as they made their way out, leaving Luke standing with a lightly mollified look on his face. The kid rubbed the tip of his nose and glanced into space, drawing an amused smirk from Han.

"You wanna explain that one?" Han snorted.

Luke cleared his throat.

"They, ah, feel that my presence in bars…around women," Luke ventured diplomatically, "interferes with _their_ ability to be the main focus of…said women."

"Huh," Han said, feigning confusion. "Wonder why."

Luke shrugged vaguely.

"I can't help it if women like when you're polite to them and get them water instead of plying them with more alcohol and talking their ear off."

Han nearly choked on his tongue – he reflected on all the times he'd engaged in the tried-and-true practice of buying a woman drink to start a conversation, and maybe take her home, and considered if maybe all this time he should have been plying them with _water._

"Yeah, you're such a gentleman," he drawled. "It's got nothin' to do with your name being _Luke Skywalker_ and that lightsaber hanging at your belt."

Luke squinted at Han narrowly.

"If that's some kind of euphemism – "

Han glared at him, shaking his head.

" _Kest_ ," he swore, grimacing, "I meant goin' home with the galaxy's last Jedi has to be at the top of quite a few sex bucket lists." He paused, and gave Luke a very serious look. "Kid, if I ever become the guy who makes lightsaber dick jokes, run me through with one."

Luke nodded seriously.

"Noted."

He paused.

"Though, I do feel it needs to be pointed out that I could find a way to make an incredibly vulgar joke with that last comment you threw out."

"Don't," Han said narrowly.

Luke laughed, and tilted his head.

"You think women have sex bucket lists?" he asked, bemused.

Han shrugged.

"You think _I'm_ on them?" Luke asked, pointing to himself.

Han pounced.

"No, I think I am," he retorted, deadpan, "but I'm taken, so you're second best."

Luke rolled his eyes good-naturedly, shaking his head – quietly pleased to see Han's rough-and-tumble, cocky humor appearing. He hadn't seen him much for the past two days – their schedules hadn't really aligned, though when Luke had gone by to see Leia at her office yesterday, and Han had been in there with her, the Corellian had been amiable, if a little guarded.

"Well, with you taken, and me leaving soon, Wedge and Gavin should have some luck," Luke said fairly, "especially since they're getting medals at the gala, too."

"So're we," Han pointed out smugly. "Status quo's the same, then." He shook his head, and grinned at Luke. "You must be a bad wingman if they don't even want you out with them," he laughed. "How's it go, you pick up one woman, and leave the others so devastated they won't even look at the other Rogues?" he shook his head, making a sly _tsking_ noise.

"I should make it up to them," Luke said seriously. "Wedge _was_ interested in Dansra," he muttered.

"You _stole_ a girl from your buddy?" Han said, outraged.

Luke held up his hands.

"What am I supposed to do if she's not interested? You can't make a girl be interested in you!"

"It worked for me," Han said seriously.

He flashed a charming smile, and Luke rolled his eyes. He sighed.

"I wonder if _Winter_ would be interested in one of them," Luke said. "She's gorgeous, and basically royalty, so they'd really thank me – "

" _Luke_ ," Han interrupted, incredulous, "do you want to bust every blood vessel in Bail's _head_? You can't hand his _other_ precious daughter off like that!"

Luke blinked edgily.

"I'm not going to hand anyone off," he said, affronted. "It wouldn't hurt to introduce her, they're stand up guys, when they're not being rowdy," he defended.

"She's seein' some guy from Alderaan," Han said. "He's takin' her to the gala."

Luke looked a little red.

"Well, I know that, but she says there's no actual commitment between them as of yet," he muttered.

Han gave him a look.

"She does, eh?" he asked, eyeing Luke intently. "When did you get so cozy with Winter's personal affairs?" he probed.

Luke sighed, and rubbed his jaw.

"She was at Bail's right hand the other day, Han," he said, "helping cover for Leia. Bail was pretty tight lipped about the whole situation, even to her, but she was worried. She found out where I lived and came hunting."

Han nodded grudgingly.

"Sounds about right," he conceded – sounded like something Leia would do. "What'd you tell her?"

"That Leia was getting some sleep, and that she had a terrible evening. I said she was going to be okay but it wasn't fair for me to say anything else," Luke explained.

"Good for you, kid," Han said sincerely.

Luke shrugged, frowning thoughtfully.

"I actually think that's what she wanted to hear me say," he muttered. "Winter seems to constantly be testing everyone around Leia, looking to see if she has the same kind of loyalty they had from the servants and friends of House Organa."

"Can't blame 'er," Han muttered.

"Yeah," Luke agreed, and then glanced furtively around, and gave Han a dry look. "She's highly intelligent, and that memory of hers is really something," he said.

Han grimaced – he wouldn't want to be saddled with a perfect memory like that. He shook his head, and Luke shifted his weight, running his hand over the back of his head.

"I think Winter is starved for generational company," Luke remarked finally. "She spends a lot of time with Rouge, and working with the Council and the survivors, and she's got Leia, but she doesn't have _other_ people her own age, you know?" Luke chewed his lip. "I mean, Leia has us, and Leia was friendly with the Rogues," he reminded Han. "It's not even that I'm trying to set Winter up with one of 'em, necessarily – though she's pretty, uh, spirited – but she could benefit from _peers_ , more friendships with people who weren't trapped on a ship and are the last survivors of their planet," he explained.

Luke shrugged.

"Anyway, she's a hell of a woman, which isn't that surprising since she and Leia came from the same upbringing. We talked for ages."

Han was glaring at Luke a little suspiciously, though.

" _Spirited_?" he quoted. "What d'you _mean_ , spirited?"

"I mean she's got spirit."

"Uh- _huh_ ," Han said critically.

"What is that tone?" Luke demanded.

"Nothin'," Han said intently. "'Cept that's one of the first things I said about Leia. That she was spirited," he pointed out. "And look where I am now. Shackled to the woman's leg. Ball and chain," he said, deadpan. "There's no escapin' these Organa women, Luke."

"Winter's a Retrac," Luke pointed out, giving Han a narrow look. "And that's not – I'm not – I just meant, that I, well, got the impression she wouldn't have turned me down if I asked her to stay the night – which I _didn't_ , it didn't even occur to me," Luke said hastily, at the incredulous look on Han's face, "but she and Dansra seem to have the same philosophy when it comes to casual sex, except Winter doesn't know anyone, and she's tired of Kell Tainer."

Luke tilted his head.

"I don't see Leia being particularly thrilled with Winter involving herself with me."

"It's the Viceroy you got to worry about," Han said dryly.

Luke blinked, and then smirked.

"I don't," he retorted. "I'm a lovable, polite, respectable – "

"Farmer."

"— _Jedi_."

Luke arched a brow, and shrugged – "That's my lengthy justification for why I should introduce Winter to all the Rogues," he laughed, "it's for her benefit – not some roundabout way to provoke the Bail's irritation and cackle madly as he blames you for the corruption of yet another of his highborn ladies."

Han cocked his head.

"Winter's sleeping with Kell?" he asked, picturing the other pilot on the Alderaanian Council, about Dansra's age, and always good in aerial assaults – Tainer had covered Han's back more than once during battles.

"She was," Luke said with a shrug. "I mean, she was celibate for over a year and he's a nice lookin' guy from her home planet."

Han snorted.

"Wonder if Leia knows."

Luke nodded – and Han glared.

"How come _I_ don't know?" he demanded, pointing at himself.

Luke gave him a solemn look.

"You're out of touch with the rank and file, General," he mocked, deadpan. "You're tamed now."

"Tamed?!"

"Yeah, you're the kind of guy who remembers the first compliment you gave Leia," Luke snorted. " _Sap_."

Han scowled, and pointed at Luke.

"You watch yourself around Leia's family," he said. "I don't care that you're a slut, but I just got everything nice and settled, and I don't need you kicking up a bunch of drama."

"Don't worry, Han, you've always got the drama covered," Luke retorted wryly.

He brushed off his shoulder and smirked a little; Han glowered, and Luke laughed at him. He folded his arms and raised his eyebrows, shaking his head.

"You didn't come looking for me to gossip about women and who's sleeping with who, did you?" he asked skeptically.

Han rubbed his jaw, arching his own brows, and then lowered his head, grinning reluctantly.

"Kriff, we sound like a couple of teenage girls," he griped, making a face.

"That's not so bad, I guess," Luke said pointedly. "We know at least one girl who was a force to be reckoned with when she was a teenager."

Han nodded. He reached up and put his hand on his neck, scratching the back of his head a bit warily. Luke's word choice, the mention of Leia – it reminded him of why he'd tracked the kid down, why he'd needed to, and he'd put it off, preferring the easygoing back-and-forth to the conversation he owed Luke.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah, look, kid – speaking of…the Force," he managed, his mouth curling a little sourly as he said it – not necessarily out of distaste, but because it was such a foreign concept to him, and even after all he'd seen of Luke's power, and now Leia's, too, he still functioned at the core on logic and tangibles, and the Force was neither of those things.

Luke pressed his lips together warily and nodded, folding his arms and looking down. Han scuffed his foot and lowered his hand from his head, holding both hands up, flat, and just went for it – he'd come a long way from the jaded smuggler he used to be, but pride was still a key part of his character, and setting it aside even for mere seconds was a struggle.

"I owe you an apology," he said bluntly. He paused, and watched Luke's face, and then folded his arms, shoulders squared. "For tearin' into you like that," he went on. He swallowed stiffly. "I know you care about Leia."

Luke smiled vaguely, his expression wry.

"I take it Leia instructed you to come groveling," he said neutrally.

"Hey, 'M not groveling," Han said shortly. "I'm apologizing and I mean it, but I'm not gonna beg," he said flatly. Pausing, he shook his head, though: "She told me I should _talk_ to you. Sayin' sorry's on me."

And it was, that was the honest truth; a few days removed from the incident, he was regretting some of the accusations he'd thrown at Luke, and the main impetus for that actually wasn't necessarily Leia's quiet calm and her assurances that Luke was not in the wrong. Rather, Han kept going back to how Luke had gotten right back in his face that night, shouted at him, and stood his ground – and with Luke generally being such a collected, grin-and-bear it person, it was a distinct indicator that Han must have really hit a nerve.

"I think I said…you treat Leia like a plaything, or somethin'," Han recalled, scuffing his foot again – he knew exactly what he'd said, but he didn't feel like repeating it verbatim, and remembering made him grimace. "That was out of line."

Luke looked at him intently.

"Yeah, it was," he agreed simply – and even now, Han was unused to Luke standing his ground _that_ firmly, at least when it came to their personal differences in life philosophy and whatnot, and it had the effect of making him feel worse.

Luke cleared his throat.

"I get it, though," he said calmly. "I brought her home and sort of threw her at you, and she was barely functioning. I scared you and you were worried about her, and I _get_ why you got so mad. I also appreciate the apology," he said firmly. "I know it was bad," he went on after a moment, "but it was good for her."

"So she told me," Han mumbled, looking up.

"You don't believe her?" Luke inquired.

Han shook his head – then stopped, nodded, and then frowned, as if he were unsure what he was answering. He cleared his throat, and stepped forward in order to keep their conversation lower.

"I believe her," he said. "Leia knows herself better than anyone."

"But," Luke prompted, sensing the word was hanging in the air.

Han made an uncertain noise, somewhere between a frustrated groan and a sign.

"It feels more like she's in the eye of the storm," Han said in a rush, an edge creeping into his voice. "I _want_ her to feel this good, but when this," he waved his hand vaguely at Luke, "when it wears off, or fades…ah," he faltered, unsure what he was trying to say. "I don't trust it," he said flatly.

He believed Leia when she said she made her own choices regarding Luke, he _believed_ she felt better, unconditionally, he trusted Leia, and he could see physical improvements in her: she could sleep a little easier, she was eating – she came home early yesterday, to, in her own words, take it slow – and that was unusual for her; he did believe there was progress in her battered soul, but he had a wary feeling in his gut.

He'd watched her sleep last night, restless himself, wondering if this was something akin to medical shock – if somehow, she'd snap out of it, the blood would all rush harsh and heavy back into her wounds, and she'd be bowed over with stress and pain ten times worse than before, and burning hotter because of the depth Luke's meditations had opened.

"Hmm, okay," Luke said. "I can see that."

Han shrugged tightly, at least glad Luke understood some of where he was coming from.

"I know you're fine, and the Force is your best friend, but did it ever treat you like that?" Han asked dryly. "I can't see this thing. I can't just take everyone's word for it."

Luke actually laughed a little.

"Ah, well – hey, the Force beat me around, Han. Not like that but uh, it did convince me to sort of…abandon my training and run off in a frenzy and," he held up his arm, "lose a limb."

Han blinked at the prosthetic, narrowing his eyes.

"Great, kid," he said sarcastically, "Just what I wanted to hear."

Luke laughed again – gently – and shook his head.

"Leia and I have been through different things," he said sagely, "and it's not even just the bad things, it's the good, too. Her life was so contrary to mine…and Leia has to deal with a lot of pain that's deeply personal, but she also deals with pain that's incredibly public," he said, thinking of Alderaan, and all of the people relying on her, and demanding emotions and attention from her. "I have a better understanding of that now, but here's the thing – Leia may _be_ in the so-called eye of the storm," he said frankly.

Han's jaw tightened – of course, Leia herself had said nothing was magically fixed, but Han just wasn't fully sure of what was going on, and what she was going to need from now on, and that brought up old, rusty insecurities, it always did.

"But think of it like, now, when the eye of the storm passes – she's got a better handle on how to stay safe in it."

Han blinked a little warily, and Luke held up his hands, tongue in his cheek for a moment.

"Let me – okay, so, in terms of flying," he amended. "One time, you bragged to me – to the entire population of Hoth and also all the animals that lived beneath the surface, really," Luke teased dryly, "that you knew how to crash a ship the right way."

Han nodded, a smirk touching his lips.

"I thought it was an idiotic thing to brag about," Luke snorted frankly, "because I thought you must be a lousier pilot than you claimed to be if you've got that much experience crashing."

Han glared at him, but Luke flashed a grin, and went on pointedly –

"That's not it, though. Crashes happen and sometimes are unavoidable. You've got to be a damn good pilot to crash a ship safely – and that doesn't make the fact that you crashed good, but you come out alive, and with the least damage possible."

Han was quiet, though not unreceptive. He lifted his hand and tapped a finger against his temple.

"You're tryin' to teach Leia to crash her mental ship the right way," he grunted.

"Well," Luke drawled, arching his brows, "it's a given that I'd rather avoid any proverbial crashing, but that's just not realistic right away. These things take time."

Han considered him a moment more, and then nodded heavily – hell, he knew that. He himself had never expected Leia to just snap her fingers and _get over it_ , whatever the 'it' of the day had happened to be – and that's precisely why he'd often been so hostile towards Luke; he'd been reading Luke's effusive campaigning for the Force and for peace and acceptance as dismissive of Leia's complex issues, but that had been a misunderstanding.

Luke ran his hand over his shoulder hesitantly, and tilted is head at Han.

"I've come off as insensitive, I'm afraid," he said quietly. "It was never that," he said earnestly. "The technique I was using, the sort of stoic, positive faith, it's – "

"Infuriating?" Han tried dryly.

Luke smiled tensely.

"It's what worked on my father," he revealed. "It's how I was taught."

Han raised his eyebrows. He didn't say anything at first, and then he decided not to say anything at all, though Luke was clearly giving him time to.

The two men looked at each other for a long time, and Han finally gave a quick, short not of approval, one that not only acknowledged everything Luke had said, but also offered another silent apology—Luke's insight was keen, and he was probably right to put it the way he had: Leia was on the upswing, and Han was right to be wary of any seemingly miraculous improvement, but she'd been equipped with better methods to handle the downswing.

"Can I say my bit about the Force?" Luke ventured. "More in general, than specifically in regards to Leia."

Han shrugged.

"It's an amoral thing," Luke said. "Its utility is entirely dependent on how it's used. It's an ethereal part of the universe that some of us can touch. I know it's not your style, and it seems like voodoo, but it's part of Leia, and it at least deserves respect," he hesitated, "and if you and Leia ever have kids, it will be a part of them, too. You ought to try to be more open-minded about it."

Han swallowed hard at the thought, and he thought that was a good point to stop the conversation – not because he was hostile to Luke's suggestion, it was more that – he just wasn't comfortable with the topic of kids; he hadn't liked it when it was discussed on Kashyyyk, he didn't like Bail mentioning it, and he didn't like it now. That was territory he had barely crossed with Leia, and he felt immediately cautious about broaching it with anyone else.

There seemed to be so many people mentioning kids as if it were a given – an assumed fact that he and Leia wanted them, that he and Leia were capable of having them, and he knew, without her saying much about it, that Leia wasn't ready to go there yet.

Han shifted his weight, spreading his feet apart a little and giving Luke a serious look.

"Okay, I'm open-minded," he said, and Luke narrowed his eyes wearily at the glint in Han's eye.

Luke blinked dryly.

"Why do you have that look on your – "

"If Leia starts using the Force like you did on Yavin, y'know, with your inappropriate, dirty tricks," he said, deadpan, "I'll warm up real fast."

Luke turned red, and scowled at him.

"I already told you – I was – abusing my talents, and that is not a – mature and beneficial use – "

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't still do it," Han interrupted, glaring right at Luke, lowering his head to hold his gaze.

"I _don't_ ," Luke insisted, setting his shoulders back.

Han shook his head, a curious expression of mock wonder falling over his face.

"Stunning," he mumbled, in a voice that was sly, and querulously academic. "I'm impressed – twins," he said, shaking his head as if studying a lab rat.

"What?" demanded Luke irritably, stepping back.

Han lifted his finger and pointed at Luke's brow.

"You and Leia have the exact same tell," he said slowly, narrowing his eyes gleefully, "when you're lying through you're kriffin' teeth."

Luke brushed at his face twitchily, setting his jaw – and flushed again.

"I, well," he spluttered, and glared. "Any chance you'll tell me what mine is?"

Han gave him a smug look, and shook his head – because it was likely that Luke's revenge for the teasing would be telling Leia what _their_ tell was, and Han needed that kept in his back pocket. Leia's – and now, he realized, Luke's - left eyebrow ticked up just a bit at the corner when she – or he – lied, and Han used that knowledge not to ambush her and prolong a fight, but to know exactly when something was very wrong, or when she was in a bad place but putting on a brave face – that way, he knew to back off and find another strategy to handle her.

He straightened up, and grinned, and Luke frowned at him hastily – he folded his arms, and then his frown faded into a smile, and he remembered the days, before he'd found his own path, and his own tentative destiny, when he'd damn near idolized Han, thought of him as what the pinnacle of an adventuring pilot ought to be. He was grateful that, through the years of fight and flight and everything in between, he'd gotten to know the human, flawed side of Han – even without Han's attachment to Leia, their relationship had surpassed friendship and was definitively fraternal, and to Luke – finding family was everything; _having_ family was everything.

"So," Luke said, arching his brows. "You've got everything _settled_?" he asked, referring to Han's earlier assertion.

Han gave him a smug look.

"I heard Leia told you," he said.

Luke grinned, nodding.

"I'm happy for you two," he said.

"Thanks, kid," Han said dryly – he was just wary of all the other reactions that would pop up over the next week – sure, it was a definite bonus to have the Viceroy on their side, but the intensity with which Leia's life choices were publicly scrutinized was still annoying, especially if she was being derided for them.

Han arched his brows.

"It's a damn good thing Leia wanted you for that – guy they have in their weddings," he said gruffly, "'Cause I wasn't lookin' forward to decidin' between you and Chewie to stand up with me."

Luke looked humbled.

"I wouldn't have expected to take precedence over Chewie," he said honestly. "I'm just glad to be there."

Han nodded – but he did want Luke to know that, even if it was a given that Chewie would be his best man, it would have been a harder choice now than it would have been years ago, if Han had been getting married to someone before he knew Luke. On Corellia, with its stringent honor codes and attention to male valiance and brotherhood, the best man was a wildly significant position in weddings.

"Things are settled," Han said abruptly, though his tone was slow and cautious, like he was confirming it to himself. He nodded emphatically. He gestured between himself and Luke. "We're good?" he asked gruffly.

Luke nodded easily – everything that had happened in the past few days seemed to have disentangled the lines of communication and shed some light on _everyone's_ point of view and state of mind, which ultimately made them all more amenable to each other.

"Good," Han muttered. "Then – you're not leavin' soon, are you?"

"Next week," Luke answered. "Tatooine, first," he said.

Han inclined his head.

"Then, if you're free, you should come to dinner this weekend, the last night of the work cycle," he said. "Leia's got a big meeting with the council that afternoon, and Bail's not sure how it's going to go. He wants to do something for her. Only don't say anything to her; she doesn't know."

Luke looked interested.

"Is it a party?"

"It's just people she likes at the apartment," Han said vaguely.

"It's a party," Luke guessed, and then gave Han a smug look. "It's an engagement party," he said slyly. "Your future father-in-law is making you go to an engagement party."

Han glared at him, but his withering silence spoke volumes. It was nothing of the sort – not in a strict sense, though it seemed Aunt Rouge had expressed a significant amount of horror that Leia had been proposed to and had not yet been given what she kept referring to as an ' _informal tea_.' As usual, Rouge seemed to be torn between being extremely excited about some feminine tradition and consternated that Han was involved in it.

"Well, I'll be there," Luke said.

He shifted his feet apart and folded his arms, giving Han a wry look.

"Hey – you up to anything tonight?" he asked wryly.

Han shrugged.

" _Falcon_ ," he said, noncommittal. "What've you got in mind?"

"Ruining Gavin and Wedge's nights," Luke retorted wickedly – and Han found himself grinning.

It had been a fair while now since he'd gotten up to a little carefree carousing, and he thought – what the hell; he'd earned the opportunity, and it couldn't do any harm – after all, things were, if not completely settled, definitely _settling_.

* * *

Leia considered the closing of the first round of War Crimes Tribunals to be a significant victory; it put several vile, prominent degenerate Imperials on display for their crimes and then eviscerated them, and it established the New Republic's fledgling justice system on firm ground.

At the end of the day, when the courts were closed for a recess, and she'd finished catching up on everything she'd missed in briefs and meeting transcripts, she found herself visiting casually in the luxurious Embassy residence – simply _hanging out_ , in casual clothing – enjoying the company of her father, and her aunt.

She felt more at ease in the residence than she had since they had returned – it felt more like it had back when she was young, and she'd stayed her on formal visits to Coruscant; it felt less formal and more welcoming – and it seemed lived in, and perhaps all of that had happened because her conflict with her father had plateaued, and they could see eye to eye again.

She was curled on the sofa with her eyes lazily on the holovision; one of Rouge's classic old soaps was on, a wildly melodramatic program that told tales of ancient aristocracies, and Leia was taking it in with mild amusement, thinking of her mother, and thinking of Alderaan, and breathing in the scent of melting chocolate, anticipating the hot cacao that was brewing.

Her father strolled into the room, draping his heavy robe over a chair and sitting down, running his palm thoughtfully over his chin.

"I've spoken with Mon Mothma," he remarked simply. "She can make room in her schedule to attend the Council meeting at the close of the week."

Leia nodded, turning her head slightly to focus on him.

"Dodonna?" she murmured – she'd meant to speak to him today, but she'd only gotten as far as Carlist, and Carlist was on the Council, anyway, so there was no need to ensure he would be there.

Bail inclined his head.

"He seemed perplexed, but he agreed to re-arrange an exercise that was planned."

Leia smiled a little wryly – naturally, Madame Interim Chief of State and Sir Commander in Chief of the New Republic were unnerved to be specifically requested at a meeting of the Alderaanian Council, as neither of them had been involved with it apart from Bail's rescue. It was Bail's prerogative that they be there – this work cycle's impending Council meeting was a big one, addressing everything from the Gala, to opening negotiations for an Alderaanian colony, to the personal affairs of House Organa.

"Han knows he's expected to attend, I assume?" Bail asked, narrowing his eyes good-naturedly.

Leia smiled wryly.

"He wants to know if he can show up at the end," she said.

Bail glared mildly.

"I wonder if that's because he plans on going home and changing out of his military dress into something wrinkled and probably dirty."

Leia pointed at her father sharply.

"Han's clothing is perfectly clean, Father."

"Can you be sure? It always looks like it's been under a cushion on that grimy ship of his."

"It retains the authentic hue of his – less than noble background," Leia retorted. She arched a brow. "I can be sure – I've personally seen to his laundry, and your doubt is taken as an insult."

Bail settled back, steepling his fingers together with some of that bemused, startled, and amazed interest that still crossed his face when he was faced with the drastic changes in Leia's life – the fact that she routinely did her own laundry being one of them.

Bail was entirely sure he'd be about as successful with an autovalet as he had been with the toaster and the dishes, and yet certain middle and lower class domestic chores were habit to Leia. He was often starkly reminded of his own deeply embedded, and until recently, un-examined, elitism when he caught himself wondering why she hadn't surrounded herself with servants and droids again now that the war was over.

It seemed that she simply wasn't interested – it was one of the softer, less brutal changes that had occurred in her life; war had made luxuries scarce, and acting as a soldier had put her on a certain level with the average person, and that had stuck, and the simplicity of Leia's private life now seemed to suit her, and Bail was impressed with her ability to slip back into the skin of royalty when she was in the public.

Leia was laughing quietly.

"Oh, don't make him sit through the entire meeting," she said. "He'll start pulling my hair or spitting paper through a straw at Jan."

"I'll see to it that General Solo is disarmed of all straws and bits of paper before entering the Embassy conference hall," Bail said sternly.

Leia rolled her eyes.

"Han's presence is only necessary for the last word," she said, gently but firmly, "and – I'd rather him not wear his uniform, as it were," she went on thoughtfully. "A part of me would rather him not be present," she added slowly.

Bail arched his brows, and Leia shrugged.

"I want to hear and see their unfiltered reactions," she said quietly. "If he's there, I'm less likely to gauge that."

Bail waved his hand slightly, his expression stern, and Leia shrugged – that was only a small part of her; most of her would never allow Han to be excluded from the end of this upcoming meeting, because she did not in any way want it to look or feel as if he were not equal to her, or he were not accepted. She wanted him in their face, and she wanted them confronting it, and –

"Why no uniform?" Bail asked warily.

Leia lifted her shoulders.

"It's not him," she said. "Han serves because I serve, and when the war ended he had few options to return to – and he knows his main option would damage my credibility."

Bail inclined his head.

"Well, yes, I'd say you'd be in a predicament if your boyfriend was on the lam from intergalactic authorities all the time."

"A _slight_ predicament," Leia allowed smartly. She went on: "He lost his taste for the military after the Academy," she said quietly, "and he's a good leader – he's reliable, he's loyal, he's a tactical genius – but he won't be a general forever. And I don't want him there, trussed up in a uniform he hates, referred to with a title he thinks is uncomfortable, as if the only way he's worthy of me is if he's spruced up as much as possible."

Bail nodded again – it was his idea, after all, to inform the council of his views on Han Solo as it pertained to Princess Leia, in both a political and a personal capacity. After everything that had happened of late, and keeping in mind how demanding they had all been of his opinion at that first disastrous Council meeting he had attended, Bail was making amends – Bail was requiring Threkin Horm to be back in his chair on the Council for this one specific meeting, and this time, _Bail_ was going to be the one aggressively in Leia's corner, whereas last time Carlist had put him to shame.

"Leia?" Rouge called, sauntering in with a cup and a saucer. She handed a cup of frothy, steamy hot chocolate to her and beamed, leaning down on the couch. "Are you hungry? Would you like us to order up dinner?"

"Rouge, stop treating her like a guest," Bail said with a laugh.

Rouge gave him an annoyed look.

"I'm actively doting on her, Bail, you hush your obnoxious mouth," she ordered. She turned back to Leia. "I can make you some toast," she offered innocently.

Leia arched her brow, while her father apparently choked on his tongue.

" _You_ can make toast?" he spluttered. _His_ persnickety sister, his uptight, regal, _quite_ proper and pampered sister –

"Of course," Rouge said, giving him another look. "It's still the act of lightly singeing bread, is it not?" she asked, neatly condescending. "It hasn't changed into an Olympic event in the time we were stranded? 'Can I make toast' – heavens, Bail, I'm not completely useless."

Rouge clicked her tongue and strolled back into the small cooking alcove in the residence, while Leia tried to stifle her hysterical laughter in a quick, molten sip of hot cacao. She chanced a look at her father through her lashes, and the dark, menacing look on his face only made her laugh harder; she was forced to draw her mouth away from the drink.

"Father, I sw-I _swear_ ," she laughed, "no one told her yet – I haven't let Han tell anyone else," she choked out.

It was genuinely a coincidence – a sweet, hilarious coincidence, that Rouge happened to have acquired the skill of making toast at some point in her life despite the same opportunity completely bypassing her brother, and it was an even more precious coincidence that she happened to bring it up now, when even days later, Bail's pride was still smarting, and Han still hadn't let the blackened excuse for toast be thrown out.

"I think he told Carlist," Bail said accusingly.

"He did not tell Carlist," Leia assured him.

"I think Carlist was giving me a vaguely mocking look today, though he did not have the audacity to say anything."

Leia laughed into her teacup.

"Well, then, obviously you're simply being paranoid, as he can't possibly know about the toast."

"You're so sure of this because…?"

"Because Carlist would find a _considerable_ amount of audacity at his disposal if he found out about the toast," Leia said slyly.

Bail scowled at her, as Rogue came waltzing back into the room with a small, delicately decorated plate and two perfectly bronzed pieces of bread, handing it down to Leia – she'd even sprinkled it with brown sugar and placed a slice of butter on each one.

"Aunt Rouge, thank you," Leia said sincerely, and Rouge leaned down to kiss the top of Leia's head, coming around to join her on the couch.

Leia plucked up a piece of toast and bit into it pointedly; her father's lips twitched downward in annoyance at the distinctly mocking crunch, and Leia smiled brightly.

"I'm afraid that cacao is rather subpar," Rouge sighed forlornly, shaking her head. "It's too aged – and it seems we'll never have real Vobra cacao again."

Leia nodded, compressing her lips nostalgically – Vobra was a kind of cacao native to Alderaan, a delicacy, and one that held its flavor only during certain seasons; it was no good off world, and there was no world left for it to bloom in.

Rouge sighed and tilted her head back.

"Where is General Solo this evening?" she asked politely.

Leia crunched lightly on a corner of toast, considering Rouge for a moment. She swallowed and cleared her throat.

"He's out with Luke and the Rogue Squadron," she answered neutrally – Han had commed to tell where he was going before she had left her office for the day.

"Out?" Rouge asked. She lifted her head, wide, easily scandalized eyes expectant. "At what event?"

Leia gave her an amused look.

"Rouge, I believe Leia means Han is at a bar," Bail supplied, brow raised.

"Likely several," Leia added seriously.

Rouge blinked.

"Whatever for?"

Leia bit off another piece of toast delicately.

"Drinking," she said, deadpan. "The, ah, ancient practice of embarking on a course of action that will get him inebriated."

Rouge blinked, and Leia blithely set aside her plate of toast and turned her full attention to the cacao.

"Oh," she said faintly. "Amongst the debauched Coruscant masses, I suppose," she remarked.

"Friends, as he often calls them," Leia noted. She arched a brow. " _Luke_ isn't debauched."

"Master Skywalker? Of course not, he's a darling thing," Rouge said matter-of-factly – and Leia rolled her eyes good-naturedly down at her mug – Rogue turned to her, curious, her brow furrowed. "And you aren't – alarmed that he spends evenings around that sort of – tomfoolery?"

Leia glanced at her father surreptitiously – _tomfoolery_? Bail rolled his eyes a little – however, Rouge seemed to be trying to understand Leia's relationship, and Leia was going as easy on her as possible.

"He can handle his liquor, Aunt Rouge," Leia said by way of answer.

Rouge shook her head – her world was full of men who used liquor with sophistication, who spent nights out at charity functions and royal events – she knew no men like Han Solo, nor men like the ones Leia had spent the past several years with.

"Out there with hundreds of loose, easy women?" she clucked. "Suppose he were to be – caught by one?"

Leia took a sip of cacao.

"Like a fish?"

"Leia, don't be difficult – "

"I'd like to see one try to reel him in," Leia sneered loftily. "It takes quite an effort in bitching and verbal abuse and I don't think anyone is on my level."

"Leia," Rouge said earnestly, "he just seems so wild – "

"He is, he's an animal, I've lost his leash – I'm beside myself – "

Rouge was glaring at her, and Leia bit back an unladylike snort of laughter.

"You don't ever worry he would be tempted by some little tart out there? End up bringing her home and breaking your heart?"

"Well, that would be colossally stupid of him, since we live in the same place," Leia said dryly.

She sighed and tilted her head at Rouge – this train of thought irritated her, because she'd already made it clear, when the photo of Tendra and Han had surfaced, that she knew Han would never screw up like that. This seemed to be Rouge's main concern, though, and it seemed earnest, and deeply personal, and Leia quelled her annoyance because it left her wondering what she didn't know about her aunt – if she'd been hurt by betrayal in the past.

"As I've said before, I don't have to worry about Han and other women," Leia said simply. "Aunt Rouge – what would be the point of my being with him if I couldn't trust him?"

Rouge clasped and unclasped her hands, nodding and pressing her lips together worriedly. Leia sat back and shared a look with her father, and Bail shrugged a little – Rouge was Rouge, and she was doing her best.

"I just want to know he's good enough for you in every way," Rouge said, her eyes focused on the holo. "You're the heart of House Organa now, and if that man is going to be part of our legacy, I will see to it that he treats you well – we're not dispensing with decorum for you to end up with regrets," she went on, matter-of-factly.

Leia was giving her an intent look, and Rouge turned to her, gesturing to the holodrama on the screen.

"Do you hear me, Little Princess?" she demanded, arching a sharp brow. "To have a successful scandal, you cannot half-ass it. When you shock the world, you better live happily ever after. Otherwise, you're a disgrace and a pity instead of a fairytale."

Leia bit the inside of her lip to keep her mouth from falling open, staring at her aunt – she didn't even have the wherewithal to argue about whether or not loving Han counted as a scandal, she was too taken aback by Rouge _swearing_ and advising her to make sure she flouted custom _efficiently_.

Leia compressed her lips and swallowed hard.

"I hear you, Auntie," she said quietly, inclining her head.

Rouge nodded once for emphasis, and murmured something under her breath in her native tongue.

Leia looked over at her father, and smiled with a sense of relief. He smiled at her somewhat indulgently, and then –

"Does Han go out and get drunk often?"

Leia's smile faded into a mild glare.

"Are your feelings hurt that you were not invited?" she retorted.

Bail blinked dubiously. Leia pursed her lips.

"Do you miss him, Father?"

Bail rolled his eyes.

"I understand your verbal sparring to mean I'm overstepping myself or being elitist," he said, and Leia nodded, arching one brow.

"If you do miss him, I'm sure I could get him to take you out," she said.

Rouge turned and looked at her reprovingly.

"Your mouth is as salty as kvelta flesh," she remarked. "I believe there was a time when you took that tone with your mother and she dipped your tongue in soap."

Leia pushed her tongue against her teeth and wrinkled her nose at the memory – and Breha had done it herself, rather than have a servant or a nursemaid discipline Leia.

"Respect your father," Rouge said mildly. She crossed her legs pointedly, and turned back to the television.

Leia pursed her lips.

"Yes, ma'am," she murmured obediently for old time's sake, looking at her father again. He gave her a quiet smile, and winked at her – and Leia leaned back, sinking into the pillows, holding her teacup close to her test, breathing in the cacao again.

She breathed out quietly in relief – this was _good_ , this was positive, this was so much better than it had been. She reflected on the dark moments when she'd thought she'd never repair her relationship with her father, when she thought it would be fractured and overly formal and broken forever, and now she looked at the mended parts of it, and she was able to tell herself it had always been a matter of time, and patience –making an undaunted _effort_.

She stifled a yawn, and thought of the progress Han and her father had made, and she closed her eyes lightly a moment, listening to the murmur of the holodrama, and tentatively thinking to herself – that she was starting to feel an equilibrium again.

* * *

The last day of the work cycle approached with ferocity; Leia was in high demand from all sides throughout the morning, and she had simmering nerves about the impending Council meeting – but by the time late afternoon rolled around and she was seated at the head of the table with everyone in full attendance, she was touched by a sense of calm efficiency – and she led the discussion with her usual natural grace.

The central topic, after all, was monumental – Kell Tainer and Tyr Taskeen's intensive tandem efforts in searching for a possible resettlement place for the Alderaanian diaspora had paid off.

Their tentatively sketched briefing, with outlines of plans, and preliminary language, was on full display around the room; Leia had given them full command of the floor.

"Our search into this at first was…hampered by what was an essentially futile hope that we'd find some place nearly identical to home," Taskeen was saying academically. "We overlooked a lot of options and we kept refusing to look at others for reasons that were nostalgic and understandable but not necessarily realistic – Alderaan's snowcapped mountains will never be replicated, nor will her forests or her lakes and native, floral atmosphere, and any planet remotely close is, of course, already inhabited."

Leia tilted her head, her eyes on the proposal, thinking of home – thinking of how strange it would be to call anything else by Alderaan's name. She knew that she, and all of her peers here, and all of the survivors, would forever be a lost generation – it would take years and years for their descendants to have a place to call theirs again, and it would still be eternally different.

"We've come to a solution we think might benefit everyone," Taskeen said, gesturing at Kell as he leaned forward.

Kell placed his hands on the conference table.

"We want to create a colony, a place for the Diaspora, to call home – but we also want to ensure that the survivors who have put down roots elsewhere, who have found communities and comfort, don't feel alienated if they don't uproot and join us," he explained. "Alderaan was always about conservation and preservation, and it's lucky we're accustomed to that because now there's nothing more important that carrying on our culture and who we are as a society."

Kell rubbed his jaw, and gestured at some of the maps.

"In the past few years since the Disaster, we've become – accustomed to being integrated as a fused part of the galaxy – we have no home, so either everywhere is home, or nowhere is," he said, "and our most significant leader – Princess Leia," he nodded reverently at her, "has been the guiding light in balancing how to remember who we are, and yet still live in the here and now."

Leia swallowed tightly – she wasn't so sure she had done a good job of that, but hearing Kell speak –

"Tyr and I thought, going forward, this search for a new place to call ours shouldn't just be about seizing an empty planet and frantically recreating everything we can remember and freezing it – I think, well, I'm afraid we'd fall victim to _isolating_ ourselves, perhaps even getting radical and hostile to outsiders as we try to preserve our bloodlines and our culture."

Tyr nodded, leaning in and taking up the thread –

"We need to incorporate the essence of our culture, and the best parts of our past, and ensure that we're integrating it into the shared experience we'll have as survivors of a significant society wide trauma – because we'll never be the same, and if we fall into the trap of trying to be the same, and trying to make it all the same, it's likely to cause more suffering – to leave us with a feeling of failure."

Tyr paused, and there was a hesitant throat-clearing as Threkin Horm leaned in, pointedly casting his eyes away from Leia, Bail, and Carlist.

"I think it's _paramount_ we preserve everything we can – we've been given a chance at complete salvation with the return of House Organa; how can you suggest that we start making changes now? We have a responsibility to uphold – "

"If I may interrupt," Winter interjected up, though with an edge of carelessness that suggested she didn't care if Horm objected. "Honoring tradition is not mutually exclusive to moving forward in a world that's already drastically changed," she said. "Kell and Tyr are making the right point – clinging to what we were freezes us in the past. It's debilitating – being unable to adapt and find new way to keep Alderaan alive is what's killing us," she said.

Leia brushed her hands over her lips.

She saw Horm's eyes narrow, saw him start to speak, and she held up her hand shortly.

"Be quiet," she said – not rudely, but not kindly, either. She cast a look at him that reminded him she knew exactly what his idea of tradition was, and she was still furious at the intimation.

He sat back, and Carlist took a moment to speak, leaning forward on his arms, pressing his finger into the table.

"We've lost countless valuables – we've lost entire species, and we've had to accept that are delicacies that we will never get back, but I think what's being said here is that the legacy of Alderaan isn't Arallute Gin or Infinity Clasps on matrimonial necklaces, it's the gentility and pacifism that informs our world view – and even that isn't the same," he said.

Carlist paused, and shared a look with Leia.

"Princess Leia and I were warriors. We were at the head of the Galactic Civil War, and that's antithetical to the doctrine of peace we were raised on – look around at these Council members," he said. "Dansra, Tyr – Kell," he listed, "all fighters."

Leia sat forward.

"A new Alderaan has to be about the _people_ ," she said quietly, instantly commanding attention. "Not rigid institutions, or tangible goods, or scrambling to piece together the broken shambles of what's left – it's about administering to the populace that's left and ensuring we're strong and _intermingled_ in the galaxy."

She compressed her lips, and then leaned back and looked at Tyr.

"Go on, Tyr."

He shared a look with Kell, and stood up, pointing at one of the screens in the room.

"Entirely re-settling a new planet, if we could find one with amenable living conditions, would require a complete invasion of what's already there – something the Alderaanian spirit would abhor," he said. "What we want is new legal guidance for Alderaanian citizenship, because survivors are having to give theirs up to exist in some cases, in some planets, and we want jurisdiction over our own – we need a place of pilgrimage, and a place of healing, but a sense of – going forward."

Leia pursed her lips.

"You don't want to establish a New Alderaan," she murmured.

He hesitated, and seemed wary of her response.

"Not necessarily," he said.

Kell stood up.

"We want to put together a specialist team to harvest rubble from Alderaan's graveyard and build a monument that captures the essence of the Palace at Antibes – Aldera remembered, but not replicated," he said. "We want governance of Alderaan to emanate from such a place, and we want it to be a site of remembrance and cultural vibrancy, where people perhaps – vacation, reflect, come and go."

"Honor the past," Tyr said, "without dwelling in it – being trapped in it."

Silence fell, and at this point, Bail cleared his throat, and leaned forward.

"I've spoken with these two young men on this topic already," he said gruffly. "It seems – underwhelming, perhaps; I can tell from some uncertain looks – and we need more planning, and open forums of discussion, but I'm inclined to approve of the ideas presented her."

He turned, and looked at Leia.

"Your Highness?" he asked.

She nodded.

"The monument to – Aldera," she said quietly, her voice just barely misty. "Where do you suggest…? Coruscant?"

Tyr shook his head.

"We considered that – but the Embassy is here, and while the New Republic's seizing of Coruscant as the center of governance revolutionized, it's not fit for gentle reflection – we want a place that means something to us, but is secluded – where people could settle for good if they wished, but is ultimately a treasured shrine."

He clicked something up on the screen, and looked back at Leia.

"Here."

She cast her eyes on the image, feeling a sense of vague recognition – the face of the orb was green, lush and alive, bringing to mind vivid imageries of the vast Alderaanian forests, though their trees had been more wintery, and this place seemed tropical, seemed –

"Surely you recognize that place, Princess," Carlist remarked suddenly.

She did, the moment he said it – all at once.

"Yavin."

She said the word almost to herself, thinking of the gorgeous skies that had hid them, the atmosphere that had bled red with the blood of the Empire when they destroyed the Death Star – the trees that had provided cover, the crumbling, ancient temple steps she'd ascended mere days after Alderaan had fallen before her eyes.

She was quiet, and she turned in her seat, eyes finding Carlist's – and then, generously, Mon Mothma's, and Dodonna's, both of whom had quietly been observing the conversation they had no investment in – but they were her fellow officers in battle, and they remembered that place, too.

"It's beautiful, and it's abandoned," Dansra said slowly, "and it's where we struck the first fatal blow."

Tyr nodded at her.

Leia turned her head to look at the table – she thought there was something poetic about it, a resort, a retreat, a quiet haven, built from Alderaan's smoke and ashes upon the very land where they'd lashed out in revenge, rebelled and fought back – Yavin, where she'd first set foot on solid ground after the Death Star and taken her initial steps in an upside down world.

"Princess?"

It was her father's voice, and she looked over at him – not at the Viceroy, but at her father. She gave a small nod of her head, and then leaned forward, swallowing.

"It will take time to formalize plans – as the focus remains on the Gala at the moment," she said quietly. She lifted her eyes. "We should address the question of who will have ultimate authority over Alderaan – particularly in light of new land acquired, and organizing provisions and laws with Alderaan's new place in the world without a physical planet."

There was a silence, and then Dansra furrowed her brow.

" _You're_ our authority, Princess Leia," she said simply.

Leia hesitated, and flicked her eyes to her family, and it was Rouge, Rouge of all people, who leaned forward, and understood exactly what Leia was saying.

"She's asking if House Organa is Alderaan's last monarchy," Rouge said, with some sense of loss, and awe, in her voice. "Leia?" she asked, dispensing with formality completely.

Leia nodded slowly.

"We were a progressive, liberal planet ruled by an institution that saw its heyday before democracy's birth," she said.

She looked only at her father, and then Rouge, and finally Winter, as she went on –

"I've been called the last Princess of Alderaan for years now," she said. "I believe I should remain the last."

There was silence around the table, and Leia compressed her lips.

"My mother's death leaves me her crown," she said quietly. "I have the authority here to appoint Bail Organa, Prince Consort, as the continued Viceroy of the Alderaanian, highest authority regarding the diaspora – he'll take my place in the Senate in Alderaan's honorary seat. House Organa is going to serve Alderaan in traditional capacity as long as it can." She paused, and lifted her chin. "This question does not have to be settled today."

Rouge lifted her eyes to the ceiling and Leia noticed it was not in horror, and it was not in desperation – but in quiet reflection, and Leia felt a tightness in her chest – she knew they all felt lost, they all felt out of place – if Leia felt like a tarnished relic of a dead tradition, then her father and Rouge had it worse – but there was no place for what they had been.

Leia swallowed hard, and her father leaned forward.

"Princess Leia has always been an intergalactic player, more than just an Alderaanian royal," he said carefully. "There were always questions of whether she would take my wife's place in the succession – you wish to continue your work in the New Republic?" he asked Leia. "Is it your plan that – you continue in a dual capacity, and I take the mantle of a solely Alderaanian player?"

Leia inclined her head - -she felt powerful, and small at the same time: she was dictating her father's place in the world to him, and he was accepting it.

"In that case," Bail said quietly, "I'd ask – with no harm intended and no insult to you, Leia, – that Breha Organa remain the last Queen of Alderaan."

Leia's response was quick, immediate – she didn't want Breha's crown, ceremonial or not, and she had had definite concerns that a resettlement of Alderaan, and a reviving of all they wished to reconstruct, would demand that she take it – and she'd have found it impossible to say _no_.

Princess was a difficult enough title – and she struggled hard with it now, with the weight of Vader on her shoulders, knowing what he did to her people.

"House Organa will remain fixed as it was before the Disaster," Leia said. "When we provide legal documents detailing how Alderaan's Diaspora will be governed and represented – the positions will be elected; not appointed or inherited."

Rouge breathed out quietly, and Threkin Horm, eye's wide, sat open-mouthed – though he wasn't horrified, it seemed, he was…awed. They were all in a little shock, in a little bit of an internal whirlwind, because it was one of those moments of stark confrontation, of moving forward while clearly recognizing that everything had changed.

Winter cleared her throat.

"I think it's fair," she said. "I think it's fitting," her voice was soft, a little choked. She turned to Leia. "Leia, you're the one with the power to get everyone through this," she said earnestly. "You're Alderaan and New Alderaan."

Leia looked at Winter only briefly, but her look spoke volumes – she just couldn't hold her gaze for very long, because she felt tears prick at her eyes. She took a breath, and inclined her head, gesturing at Rouge.

"My power in this Council will be ceded more heavily to Viceroy Organa in the coming months," she said, "culminating, most likely, in a formal re-endowment of his Alderaanian authority at the Gala – or at one of the festivals," she said with a small laugh.

Rouge nodded, sitting up straight.

"There's a flurry of planning to complete, but it's shaping up to be precisely eight days of purely Alderaanian festivities – ending in the traditional gala at which the rescue mission leaders and scout crew will be given their awards," she said.

She held up her hand, ticking off a list – "General Jan Dodonna and four senior logistics crewmates, General Han Solo, Commander Luke Skywalker, Captain Wedge Antilles, Captain Gavin Darklighter, and of course – Lieutenant Dansra Beezer."

Dodonna leaned forward at this point, inclining his head respectfully.

"I am – more than honored to be thought of," he said, "but I want to make it clear – there was no glory in this for me, my crew – or anyone on the scout mission," he said honestly, "we did our duty to serve those who made this New Republic a possibility."

"General, I don't think there's a person in this room who thinks you volunteered for this in hopes of honor and glory," Rouge said sincerely. She smiled a bit. "You will still be receiving your award – fanfare, you know. It raises spirits; people love it."

Dodonna inclined his head, and sat back, content with having said his piece. He turned his head slightly towards Mon Mothma, and they seemed to share a curious look – still, no doubt, wondering why they were here, though they both had vested interest in the way things went for the displaced Alderaanians.

Carlist sat forward, his eyes on his datapad for a moment, and then lifted, looking around him.

"The core agenda of the next few meetings, then, is continued focus on the upcoming Gala, and an increased focus on plans for the Alderaanian diaspora – primarily, it seems, guided by the Viceroy," Carlist looked at Leia, and she inclined her head slightly.

They'd need – several more intensive meetings on how to legally configure what they were going to do, and how they were going to guide their people culturally – and she felt there would be tensions, and all kinds of emotions – but she was laying the foundations here: delegating power, feeling out what she wanted her place to be.

Carlist cleared his throat.

"It seems – we've reached the end of our agenda," he said slowly, and his eyes flicked towards Mon Mothma and Dodonna for a moment, no doubt a little curious himself about their presence. "Are there any last orders of business?"

Leia held his gaze for a moment, and then turned slightly, looking at her father. He nodded, beginning to stand, and Leia gave a small signal to Winter – Winter got up and made her way to the door, going out into the lobby of the meeting room.

"Yes," Bail said, pushing in his seat. He came around to Leia's chair, standing a little to her right, and viewing the room. "I'd like to take a moment to address one of the concerns that was brought to me soon after my return."

His words were timed almost in tandem with Winter returning with Han at her heels. She shut the door lightly behind her, and gestured him towards Leia. Leia noticed Threkin Horm turn his head, startled – that reaction was reflected on Dodonna's face, as well, and a quick glance around the room revealed to Leia varying levels of curiosity.

She lingered for a moment on Mon Mothma's expression – only because the Chief of State was not necessarily looking shocked, but patiently interested.

Han gave Bail a short nod as he stepped past him and stood at Leia's left, crossing his arms a little tensely – he was, as Leia had requested, not in uniform, and she could sense that alleviated some of his discomfort.

Bail cleared his throat again.

"There were some questions about Princess Leia's personal involvements and their effects on her public life. I think most of them came from well-intentioned places, and people who care for her well-being," he said neutrally.

"In recent weeks, I've come to the conclusion that the concerns brought to me were unnecessarily alarmist and misguided," he allowed. He paused, and looked down at Leia with a small smile. "My daughter is more than capable of determining what the best choices are for her personally, and it is my rather frank opinion that the galaxy is not going to fall apart if she does so," he nodded at her, and looked up, "Alderaan certainly won't."

Bail swallowed hard and held out his hand.

"Leia," he said.

She took it, and stood up, face carefully schooled, eyes on those around her, waiting for her father's words –

"At the end of the year, Princess Leia will be marrying Han Solo," he said firmly, pausing for a significant, heavy moment, "with my _full_ blessing."

She lifted her head slightly, and he squeezed her hand a little.

"There will be a formal, public announcement at the Gala," Bail finished succinctly.

She heard the tenseness in his voice, and she knew it was an emotional moment for him; this sort of significant milestone in her life would have been difficult for him under the tamest and most normal circumstances.

The occasion of an announcement like this called for formality, and dignity, but Leia – inexplicably, suddenly, found that she couldn't not keep the smile off her face; biting her lip didn't hold it back, nor did gritting her teeth – despite the betrayed look on Threkin Horm's face, and the startled look on Dodonna's – she _smiled._

Winter was out of her seat first, hands reaching for Leia's face, kissing her cheek, smiling smugly, before she stepped behind her to take Han's hand with the same triumphant smile, effusive in her approval. Leia turned to look at them, and when she turned her head back, she was surprised to find herself face to face with Mon Mothma.

"I see why you wanted me here, Bail," she said nicely, before turning to Leia and holding her hands out. "Princess," she said, taking Leia's fingers lightly in hers, and leaning forward to kiss her cheek. She pulled back, and her face was unreadable for a moment, guarded, before she smiled – a genuine, quiet smile. "I wish you happiness," she said.

Leia turned her hands over and squeezed Mon Mothma's, nodding, her gratitude evident in silent eyes – the words were sincere, and Mon Mothma gave her another thoughtful, respectful nod before stepping aside and clearing her throat to politely pay her respects to Han.

It was a rush of council members standing to respond to the announcement, and she reveled even in shaking Threkin Horm's hand, because in the face of Bail Organa's approval he had nothing to stand on, no reason to object other than his own personal dislike of Han. His approval or disapproval meant nothing to her, but Mon Mothma's kindness, and then – Jan's –

"Princess, congratulations," Dodonna said gruffly. He seemed to pause for a moment, and he looked troubled, and then lifted his chin again. "Best of luck."

\- his words, sincere, though awkward, meant a lot to her; she felt she could breathe easier, knowing that these two people who she had worked so closely with, and had so much respect for, could align themselves with the idea of the life she wanted in tandem with her political life.

She sensed Han enjoyed staring Jan down more than he should, but she was distracted by short words from Dansra, and Kell – and Tyr, and then, last, as the others started to break off into twos, Carlist, who had waited until the end to rise from his seat and come forward.

She took a few steps forward to meet him, leaving her father standing somewhat protectively next to Han while he shared a gruff exchange with Dodonna.

"Carlist," she said, startled to find her voice cracked just slightly.

He inclined his head, bowing forward at the waist.

"Princess," he said quietly.

She smiled at him, dipping her head a little for a moment to compose herself, and then she held out her hands and took his, running her thumbs over his wrists for a moment. She looked about the room, and then gently pulled him forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, comfortable hug. She closed her eyes briefly, rested her head on his shoulder, and then stepped back just as swiftly, leaving her hands on his shoulders.

"You were always in his corner," she said, tilting her head slightly at Han – unspoken, she thought – _our corner._ "I won't forget that."

Rieekan shrugged, his face a little red. He cleared his throat.

"He's a decent guy," he said gruffly, giving her a wry look. "And he loves you."

Leia nodded, and Rieekan cleared his throat heavily again, nodding his head at Han and Bail.

"So, they're thick as thieves now?" he asked.

Leia laughed hoarsely – "Interesting choice of words," she said, and turned, catching Han's eye – he extricated himself, and came over, his hand falling to her lower back, his charming, cocky smirk shining at her a little mischievously.

Carlist clapped him on the shoulder and grinned at him wryly.

"The whole world loves her, you know," he remarked sternly. "That's a lot of pressure on you not to screw up."

Han ran his hand over Leia's back lightly, and tilted his head at her. He looked at Rieekan sideways, remembering the short conversation they'd had months ago, at one of the first council meetings – he nodded again, with the same understanding – and he said nothing.

Carlist smiled at both of them, and stepped back, lifting his head to nod at Bail as the Viceroy approached. Rouge plucked at the sleeve of Carlist's uniform and surreptitiously beckoned him over, speaking with him quietly in Alderaanian –

Bail turned to Han and Leia, appraising them both. He folded his arms and nodded to himself, satisfied with the way things had gone.

He gave her a look that was somewhat formal, but a little teasing, and said –

"This is what you want?"

Leia leaned into Han's side, her lips, her cheeks – her whole face aching with the smile she couldn't control, and she closed her eyes, nodding silently – it felt so good to have this one part of her life resolved, to have it on its way to set in stone, if nothing else was every going to be completely steady for her, at least Han would be hers.

Han pulled her head towards him and kissed the top of her head, sharing a look with the Viceroy – they had months, years, ahead of them to get to know each other better, but the foundation of a good relationship was laid, and it was cemented in the fact that Bail could be sure Leia would be loved as much as he'd ever hoped for her to be.

* * *

The evening air was blissful; Coruscant's moon was bright and gleaming, visible in the dark red and maroon clouds of the city planet, and Leia's eyes were on it from the balcony. She listened to the hum of traffic, and she listened to the hum of people in her apartment – friends and family both, convened in a casual get together.

It had been arranged by Rouge, in honor of an Alderaanian tradition of having a celebratory tea for the immediate family swiftly following a daughter's engagement. Leia's mother would have given it – but Rouge handled it instead, and Leia was treated to it a few hours after the meeting, when those dearest to her started showing up.

She made sure Rouge knew the thought meant a lot to her, and she assuaged her aunt's fears that Leia would think it hurtful of her to step into Breha's shoes.

She listened to them all now, taking a moment alone outside, and she smiled, leaning forward on the railing – thinking about the meeting today, the whirlwind of the past few days – and all the dramatics that had turned her life pyrotechnic in the spare few months since that ominous distress signal had appeared.

"Leia?"

She lifted her head, and turned slightly at the sound of his voice – Han, silhouetted for a moment in the balcony doorway, one hand braced on the open door. He stood looking at her, his head tilted, and she flicked her eyes over him before inclining her head a little, and lifting her hand, beckoning.

He slid his hand off the door and strode forward, standing next to her. He rested his hand on the back of her neck, then ran it down her spine and looked down at her with a worried expression, glancing behind him.

"You okay?" he asked.

He leaned down a little, fingers brushing around to her ribs lightly.

"Hey, are there too many people here?" he asked.

He'd second guessed letting people surprise her ten or so times; every time he was told it was a tradition, he also wondered if Leia would be too overwhelmed by essentially being required to socially entertain without warning, in her own home –

She shook her head.

"No, no," she demurred gently, sincerely. She straightened up little, turning towards him. She leaned her hip against the railing and reached for Han's shirt, smoothing the wrinkles, running her palms over his chest. "It's refreshing," she murmured.

She'd heard Luke regaling Winter with animated tales of what it was like to train with a Jedi Master like Yoda, and she'd had a good laugh over Han producing a plastic bag with a certain burnt piece of toast in it, which he immediately showed to both Carlist and Rouge – Chewbacca was cooking, and there was wine, quiet music – it felt –

"It's a little like home," she remarked softly.

She meant – it almost reminded her of nights in Aldera, but there was also that subtle difference; in a way, her old life and her new life colliding. She'd heard Rouge remarking on the odd feeling she got in Leia's apartment, unable to pinpoint it – to which Bail had replied, simply – _No servants, Rouge. She's got no servants._

Leia let her hands fall from Han's chest to her sides, and she tilted her head, glancing towards the living area – the holo was switching, flipping from channel to channel –she heard laughter, and she looked up at Han.

He arched his brows.

"What's on your mind, Your Worship?" he asked, smirking playfully.

Leia smiled and glanced down, looking back up through her lashes. She compressed her lips, and then reached out to slip her hand into one of his pockets, pulling him a little closer, anchoring him there.

"I've got a lot on my mind, Han," she said honestly.

She paused, and moved closer, keeping her voice quiet.

"I think I've figured some things out."

He nodded, looking down at her hand, and then cocking his head again.

"Want to fill me in?"

She took a deep breath.

"Are you ready?" she asked. "Can you handle it?"

Han gave her a curious look.

"You're not quittin' on me now, are you Sweetheart?" he quipped.

She laughed softly, and shook her head, eyes wide.

"No way out now, Flyboy, you're mine," she growled softly, leaning forward wryly. "You hurt me and my father will make you wish you never did," she teased.

He grinned and leaned down to kiss her, cupping her face in his hand. He ran his thumb along her jaw, pulled back, and gave her another searching look, waiting.

"What is it?" he asked.

She bit the inside of her lip, and then slid her hand from his pocket, and pulled his hand from her face, holding it in both of hers.

"I've been using this clarity I've had recently to sort out what I want," she said quietly. "My – place, in the New Republic."

Han nodded – he knew there was some uncertainty there; she had so many roles, and several of them were classified in the same way as Mon Mothma's and Dodonna's – _interim, interim, interim_ ; re-confirmation every few months, questions about who would fall where when the final constitution was ratified and the New Republic was completely immutable.

"What do you want?" he asked.

She looked at him for a long time, and he thought he saw a flicker of apprehension in her eyes; fear. It gave him a tense feeling, and he was unsure what she was about to say – if she was afraid to tell him, what could that mean…?

"There's a very good chance I'll run for Chief of State one day," she said finally, her voice level, and soft, her eyes earnest and intent. She swallowed hard, continuing: "I won't challenge Mon Mothma for the inaugural term but," she paused, taking a deep breath, "that's something I want, along the line."

Han gave her a daunted look – but, there was little shock in his reaction; he would have been more surprised if Leia decided she didn't want a high profile position. He turned his hand in hers a few times and interlocked their fingers, listening to her.

"I think I can do good in the galaxy," Leia said softly, talking as much to herself as to him. "I want to do good – I've fought for the Alliance since I was – since before I knew what it was I was fighting for," she said. "I lost so much of myself in the fight, and I think it would all be for nothing if I didn't stay at the center of it."

Han took his hand from hers and reached for a strand of her hair, listening to her talk. She looked down a moment, and turned her face into his palm briefly, and then looked back at him, her lips pressed together tightly.

"I know this sounds absurd, but I have an unbreakable connection to the man who held this world in a chokehold for decades," she said shakily, "and I think I'm going to find most of my peace, and acceptance, with that, in making sure my family's legacy is more than what Vader did."

Han paused, narrowing his eyes intently, unsure if he understood.

"You think you owe it to the galaxy to make up for his sins?" he asked.

Leia lifted her shoulders.

"Yes," she said. "Yes – and no. I know his sins aren't my fault – but I'm only going to feel better, in my own way, if everything I do, and all power I have, is dedicated to making the galaxy better. To _fixing_ it."

Han grit his teeth – he wasn't sure he agreed with her, and he didn't want her to sacrifice her life to atoning for someone else's sins. She looked up at him, though, and he knew she was serious – and he'd seen her in action, in politics and in her world of governance, and there were few people who could unite worlds like her, and create understanding, and inspire – and if Leia wanted to heal the galaxy, he'd watch her do it.

"I need you to know that's my intention going in," she said softly, "serving, in that sort of capacity, because it will have implications for you. Your career."

He arched his brows thoughtfully.

"Meaning?"

"Well," she said faintly, "if I run, you may have to resign your commission," she said. "Conflict of interest."

Han gave her a deadpan look.

"Damn," he said, unemotionally.

Leia laughed hoarsely, her voice cracking.

"And," she said, swallowing hard, "and – the Media, the Media will never stop, and – Han," she broke off.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Han, I won't consider a run without telling the world who I am."

He took a step back, startled – did she mean - ?

"What?" he asked. "You mean – about Vader?"

Leia nodded, folding her arms across her chest – it was a realization that had occurred to her over the past few days, something she just – felt in her heart would have to be done. She had grown up with the deception, and the shadows of it, once revealed, cascaded over her now and threatened her well-being every day – and she couldn't look herself in the eye if she continued, if she denied it –

Luke had been trying to teach her to come to terms all along, and she'd finally realized that accepting her origins did not have anything to do with justifying Vader or forgiving him.

"You don't have to do that," Han said warily. "Look, Leia…that's private," he told her gruffly.

"That's just it, Han, it's not," she said huskily.

She stepped back, and held up her hands, pushing her hair back – and she met his eyes confidently, taking a deep breath.

"Privacy is a privilege. It's a blessing, and I treasure it – privacy is no one knowing what I wear to bed, or what I _like_ in bed; it's people leaving me alone and never knowing who I am when I'm not in my public sphere, but privacy is a different thing than _secrecy_ ," she said.

Leia licked her lips before going on.

"People, families, governments – entire galaxies – can be brought to their knees and destroyed by secrets. I know that I can't make the world a transparent, perfect place," she paused, and put her hand to her heart, "but _I_ won't be party to deception or subterfuge, not as a leader. I will not put myself forward as a candidate for an office of high power without ensuring the Republic has informed consent in voting for me," she paused, swallowed hard, "and I will not let anyone who may have this information in the future force my hand, hang it over my head, or use it to hurt anyone I love."

Her eyes were intent as she fell silent a moment, her fingers curving into the bodice of her dress with fortitude.

"I'm in control. I direct the narrative."

Han stared at her, and was suddenly struck with the absurd notion that he should be – kneeling, or something, after a speech like that. He looked at her, his head tilted, and he saw more certainty, more _surety_ , in her eyes than he'd seen in a long time – and this was personal confidence; this was her taking sovereignty over an issue that had plagued her and plagued her and threatened to shatter her.

"I need time to deal with it myself still," she said in a small voice, "but it needs to be public knowledge. I want that – for the sake of transparency, yes, but for my own sake as well. I may exist because of Anakin Skywalker, but I'm Bail Organa's daughter. I'm Breha Organa's daughter," she hesitated, and looked towards the apartment, "and I think, someday, I'd like to call myself Padme Naberrie's daughter," she reflected.

She looked back at him thoughtfully, and lifted her shoulders.

"Those are the names I will claim. Luke is the guardian of the other."

Han folded his arms wordlessly. He held her gaze, his chest tight, mouth a little dry, wondering how in all of Corellia's hells he'd found a woman like her, how he'd managed to win her heart – she had world in her palm, she could have anyone, and she wanted him.

He stepped forward, unfolded his arms and touched her neck, tilting her head up to kiss her hard. He closed his eyes, pulled her closer, still daunted by what his role in her life would possibly be if she became Chief of State, but sure that he'd have a place no matter what.

She broke away, taking a deep, ragged breath, and looked up at him warily, her eyes wet.

"What?" he asked gently.

She touched his wrist.

"You've already told me you don't care about Vader," she said shakily, "but will it still not matter to you if everyone turns against me because of it?"

He blinked, taken aback by the question, if only because – he couldn't imagine that mattering at all. He'd already lived a life where both the legitimate and illegitimate authorities in the galaxy wanted his head on a platter, and being ridiculed for his romantic choices seemed like an easy thing to weather.

He'd worked for Jabba the Hutt and he'd been an Imperial Cadet and he'd taken shady jobs and questionable positions from here to the Outer Rim – and she thought, even for a second, that he'd shy away from being seen with Darth Vader's daughter?

He shook his head, and scoffed.

"I don't give a shit what anyone thinks," he said.

Leia laughed. She buried her head in his chest and wrapped her arms loosely around his waist, her shoulders tightening up as she laughed, and tried to hold back tears.

Everything seemed like tentatively laid plans now – careful sketches of what life could be for her as she moved forward; it was daunting, and it seemed like a constant uphill battle, but it felt good, and for the first time in a very long time, she thought the future was looking ultimately better; full of positive turns instead of dark obstacles to overcome and fear of what secret was waiting around the corner.

She stepped back from Han and turned towards the balcony railing, her shoulders free from weight for the evening, a fluttery, relieved feeling of calm shimmering in her stomach. Her hands brushed over the balcony railing lightly, and then she gripped it, pointedly, as if she were testing its sturdiness. She smiled down at her hands, and tilted her head, catching his eye through her lashes.

"You know, I think I might like you to bend me over this balcony sometime," she remarked thoughtfully – completely coquettishly, and utterly unexpectedly.

Han blinked at her, unsure if he'd heard correctly. Then he seemed to make a rather uncoordinated, un-thought-out movement as if he were going to shut the balcony door and do so, right now. Leia reached for his hand, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Han, not _now_!"

There was an echo of laughter from inside, and she hissed at him:

"There are people here."

He gave her a pained look – why the hell had she gone and said that; he wasn't going to think about anything else for the rest of the night – for the rest of his life, if she didn't follow through. He leaned closer, sliding his arm around her waist.

"I can go yell at them all to leave," he said earnestly.

She laughed and put her hands on his chest, holding him back a little. She shook her head.

"We have the rest of our lives for you to fuck me on the balcony," she soothed.

He glared at her.

"You know I can't control myself when you talk like that," he retorted, leaning in and pressing his lips to her throat.

Leia stroked her hand through his hair, and tilted her head, ducking away and catching his eye wickedly.

"Here's a thought," she murmured seductively, "what if we…abstained until the wedding night," she whispered, "try and make an honest woman out of me."

Han leaned back sharply and gave her a critical look. She widened her eyes innocently, and he stepped back, matter-of-fact, and placed his hands on the balcony, lifting one leg as if to swing it over.

"Han – what are you – "

"Throwing myself of this balcony," he muttered, feigning defeat, shaking his head – she grabbed his arm, stifling a loud laugh as she pulled him back, palms on his hips.

"I'm," she gasped, pulling his mouth down to hers. "I'm teasing," she assured him. "Teasing," she murmured, lips on his chin. She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. She sighed and closed her eyes – forever, it was going to be like this _forever_.

He grinned and wrapped his arms right back around her, running his hand through her hair, tilting her chin up, and kissing her.

They were interrupted mere moments later by a loudly clearing throat, the Viceroy, peering narrowly into the darkness –

"Your presence is being missed," he said, glaring at their display of affection.

Leia turned slightly in Han's arms and looked at him, nodding once, raising one eyebrow.

"Han," Bail said, looking over Leia's shoulder. "If you wouldn't mind, my sister and I would like to see the necklace."

Han cleared his throat gruffly, and looked at Leia, and she blushed slightly – she'd told them about it the other night, and it seemed to be the one thing that had tipped Rouge's opinion in Han towards completely favorable.

"Father," Leia said pointedly, "give us another minute."

He nodded, and bowed out, retuning to the living room – where someone called his name, a Leia heard a good-natured, warbling roar from Chewie, something about Han and Leia being at it again – and a vague joke about Bespin that Leia hoped to the Gods her father hadn't quite picked up.

She turned back to Han, and she leaned into him heavily, basking in his embrace, his scent, his wrinkled, warm clothing, and his steady heartbeat.

"Han?" she murmured. "You asked me to marry you on a balcony," she remembered.

Corellia, more than a year ago; a world so different – and she imagined, a year from now, the world would be just as wildly different, in ways she couldn't yet imagine.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, and nodded.

"Mm-hmm," he murmured. "You said yes," he reminded her smugly.

She pressed closer, and said nothing else – and she drowned out the sound of the Coruscant night, and listened instead to the liveliness inside her apartment; the sound of laughter, music, the smell of cooking, clatter of cutlery and fullness of people – and she felt surrounded by a sense of permanence; she was surrounded by the people who loved her –

Han kissed her jaw and pulled away a little to look at her, to check on her, and she smiled at him serenely.

She was surrounded by people who loved not just the idea of her, or who they thought she should be, but _her_ – they loved _her_ , and that knowledge was everything she needed to look herself in the mirror each day and start to really define who she was in her own eyes.

* * *

 _ahhh, remember: next is the gala (about a 3 month time jump) and then the beta has convinced me that there will be wedding chapter + a honeymoon epilogue instead of simply a wedding epilogue._

 _-alexandra_


	30. Twenty Nine

_a/n: i know, it's been 3 weeks since i posted. however, it sounds better if i phrase it "it's been 22 days since i posted." at least, it does in my mind. here you go! this may actually be the longest chapter yet, but i have no idea how because nothing happens in it. at least, nothing as integral and plot-related as what we've already been through._

 ** _note: M rated._**

* * *

 ** _Twenty Nine_**

 ** _*three months later_**

* * *

It was for a purely personal visit that Leia made her way by Carlist's office; he had requested her presence, in unofficial capacity, as soon as she had a free moment, and so at the end of her work day, Leia obliged – after some good-natured teasing about his audacity in summoning her anywhere.

Teasing which actually made Carlist extremely nervous, until he realized she genuinely was joking.

She wasn't entirely sure what it was that Carlist wanted; she wouldn't necessarily call his behavior cagey, but he had been what she would call deliberately vague, which left her interested, but somewhat wary. Vagueness could mean he merely wanted a face-to-face conversation, or it could mean bad news he didn't want to deliver over the phone. Leia was somewhat anticipating, if not bad news, then at least some sort of difficulty.

Her line of thought could be considered pessimistic, but the past few months and their relatively positive events had not quite overshadowed the conditioning she'd gotten from the Death Star and everything that unfolded after: expect the worst, be suspicious of the best.

He welcomed her into his office and gestured vaguely to a seat at his broad conference table, and Leia took a moment to give the seat a regal look, deciding it might be a slight bit of fun to keep poking fun at Carlist –

"You summon me to your office," Leia said, lifting her chin, "then you direct me to a seat – honestly, General," she said, affecting a sovereign tone, "how dare you – it's as if you've confused our positions."

Carlist blinked at her, and then reared back a little, straightening his shoulders – he started to say something, and then narrowed his eyes, squinting at her hesitantly – and Leia took his moment of uncertain, calculating silence to take a seat, dropping her shoulders in a relaxed pose.

She grinned at him.

"Carlist, did you ever secretly think it was a thrill commanding me around the bases?" she asked, laughing a little.

He stepped back and leaned against his desk, folding his arms. He considered her a moment, and then shrugged.

"Full disclosure?" he asked, arching a brow. "I'd have had more fun if I was ordering around your father."

Leia rested one arm on the conference table and tilted her head, amused.

"The Prince Consort himself?" she retorted.

Rieekan arched both eyebrows.

"Princess," he said dryly, "Viceroy Organa doesn't scare me as much as you do."

Leia compressed her lips, scraping her teeth thoughtfully against the tip of her tongue – she supposed that justification made sense, as even after Rieekan had gotten used to her accepting a commission lower ranking than his, his commands to her had sort of been followed with an unspoken – _er, if that is okay with you, Your Highness._

"Hmm," Leia murmured, lifting her arm and tapping her temple lightly. "I suppose that's because you've never been around Father when his wife has flushed all of his cigars down the sani."

Carlist winced, and Leia gave him a matter-of-fact look, a small, fond smirk on her face – she remembered the incident well; a slightly amusing moment, which many servants had witnessed and of course, not gossiped about, in which Bail had frantically torn apart his quarters looking for his secret stash, growing increasingly agitated until Leia, not quite adept at keeping secrets yet, had informed him innocently that Mommy got rid of them.

"Well," Rieekan drawled, shaking his head, "wives usually know what's best for us, even if it's annoying," he reflected, a sad sort of nostalgia on his face.

Leia glanced away respectfully, and he cleared his throat, pushing off from his desk and gesturing to a cabinet.

"Can I offer you a drink?" he asked.

Leia looked over, seeing the wine glasses and highball glasses, but no visible alcohol, and pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"I suppose in respectable circles of the galaxy, it's a bit early for a drink," she mused slowly. She cut her glance back to Rieekan and gave a small nod, lips quirking up – "What do you have?"

"Something from home," Rieekan said gruffly, going to his safe.

He took a moment keying in the several security codes, and though he knew Leia had no real vantage point to see into the depths of it, he angled his body to keep the view blocked just in case – he didn't want her to see the bottle of wine he was still keeping as a wedding gift.

He first removed one of the bottles of Arallute gin, and shut the safe to a sliver, stepping aside to place the liquor on the table. He returned to the safe, removed several reinforced armored boxes lacquered in a fire-resistant sealant, locked the safe, and placed them on the table as well.

He finally fetched two glasses, poured a dram of liquor in hers and provided it to her, and waited, standing, giving her a feigned look of suffering. She was caught off guard for a moment, her hand curling around the glass, and then she broke into a grin, pointing around it, and rolling her eyes.

"Sit, Carlist, pour yourself a drink," she ordered – and he gave her a wry smile in return, as if to remind her that he was just as capable of lighthearted ribbing as she was.

He did so, taking a seat near the intriguing boxes he'd just removed from the protected space. Leia shifted, and curled both of her hands around her glass, looking down at the iridescent liquor thoughtfully – though Arallute gin had been mass produced, and a treasured, sought-after export, it was still rare to come across. Less rare than so many other things – but rare nonetheless, and she savored not only the mesmerizing look of it, but the mere thought of tasting it.

She lifted it to her lips and took the first small taste, and it was an immediate warm, silky burn that felt soothing and familiar, erasing any remnants of the day's stress – though, all in all, today had not been particularly stressful, professionally or personally.

It was nothing more than a rush of last-minute finalizations for tomorrow evening's finale gala, the ostentatious, celebratory affair that would bring to a close a week of festivities honoring Alderaan and its survivors.

Members of the diaspora had been flooding in for weeks now, seeking assistance, whether it be financially or in other ways, from the council and settling for a short time on Coruscant, and Leia had thrown her heart into that – she also, naturally, balanced her New Republic duties, an equilibrium which got easier as Bail had found firmer and firmer footing in this new world, and begun to thrive in a more confident, powerful position in it.

Rouge's social magnum opus had turned out beautifully, and Leia had made sure her aunt got this last day off so she could spend the day at a spa, and putting personal finishing touches on her wardrobe for tomorrow night, while Leia made sure the end went flawlessly to plan.

Rieekan cleared his throat, and when she looked at him, he was smiling a little dryly at the bottle of gin.

"You might like to know – I poured your father a glass from the same bottle," he ventured, "when I was attempting to talk him off a cliff about Han."

Leia smiled, her teeth biting down lightly on the rim of the glass, and she took another sip before setting it aside demurely. She rested two fingers on the edge, clinking her nails lightly – she imagined her father clutching a class of gin in a white-knuckled grip, tense, blazing, firing off concerns and accusations – it was an easy sight to picture, considering she'd seen a demonstration of it with her own eyes, back then – but that was months ago, and Bail had come a long way from standing on the edge of proverbial cliffs.

"I like to think I got through to him a little," Rieekan sighed gruffly.

Leia tipped her glass towards him slightly.

"He certainly respects you, Carlist, that much is clear," she remarked. She paused, her eyes flicking towards the boxes curiously – but she said nothing, assuming Rieekan was going to bring them up in his own time – were they why he had asked her here, or had he merely - ?

"Things seem to have been progressing well," he remarked, and Leia leaned back in her chair, a little more relaxed, abandoning any lingering ideas that he might have had a difficult decision to run by her, or a slice of bad news – so this was a social visit, one of the cautious, respectful, but profoundly caring sort of moments Rieekan had been so increasingly prone to since the end of the war.

She nodded, taking a deep breath and breathing out, slowly and quietly. She gave Rieekan a neutral look, very serious – thoughtful.

"I do believe they're, dare I suggest it – _friendly_."

"Only friendly?" Rieekan retorted analytically.

Leia held her hands out, palms up, as if measuring it out – there had been, as far as she knew, no huge issues that had arisen that set Bail and Han at odds with each other, not in the way they had started out. The fact still remained that they were from different backgrounds, they had different outlooks and philosophies on life, and Bail was still adjusting to his new reality – three months was a good stretch of time, but in terms of interpersonal relationship perfection, and total adjustment to vast, paradigm-shifting events, it was also infinitely small.

She gave a small smile.

"On one hand, they dealt with that – conflict – between one of Han's squadron, and that woman from the Alderaanian Vengeance Brigade together," she said – a brutally tense moment in which the woman, who had since seen the error of her violent ways, had been accused by one of Han's pilots of being involved in a retribution mission that killed his sister and her family, as she'd been married to an Imperial officer. Han and Bail had both mediated, and it was, frankly, the most diplomatic Leia had ever seen Han act –

"On the other hand," she continued slowly, "Han called Father ' _Dad'_ in front of some dignitaries the other day, and Father," she paused, "did not like it."

Rieekan looked bemused.

"Han Solo…calls the Viceroy of Alderaan ' _Dad?'_ he clarified, blinking skeptically.

Leia sighed, shaking her head.

"In a very obnoxious tone, and only because it rankles Father," she murmured, waving her hand – and he'd never done it publicly before that incident. "He likes to cheerfully remind my father at every interval that he's going to have a – scoundrel – for a son-in-law."

"I was under the impression the Viceroy had given his approval," Rieekan protested mildly – hadn't Bail himself made the official announcement?

Leia waved her hand vaguely, gesturing out at Carlist.

"It's as you've said previously," she said thoughtfully, tilting her head, "he – they – may be over any truly toxic dislike of each other but he's still my father." She shrugged lightly. "Han is still – Han."

Leia smiled, touching her hand to her lips. She contemplated that for a moment, and then reached for her glass of gin, taking a slow sip. She laughed under her breath.

"Even if Aunt Rouge did attempt to have Han kidnapped and assaulted by a designer tailor so he could at least – as she put it – ' _look the part of a princess' intended_.'"

"I never heard any reports of a general of the New Republic being dragged anywhere against his will," Rieekan said seriously.

"Well," Leia began with a light grimace, "she sent them to ambush him at the _Falcon,_ and while Han was trying to figure out what was going on, one of them tried to measure his – ah, _inseam_ – and Han terrified them so effectively that they won't take Rouge's calls anymore."

Thus Rouge currently had a permanent scowl affixed to her face when it came to Han, and she was offended that Leia hadn't done anything about it. Leia, for her part, had not done anything first and foremost because she liked Han's typical wardrobe.

"Han's living in a whole new world," Rieekan said, bowing his head a moment as if he were mourning for him.

Leia smiled placidly – all of them were living in a new world; the simplicity of that statement summed it up perfectly. In general, it was a New Republic, a wildly free and liberal system that utterly contracted the iron fist that had clutched at the galaxy for years, but on personal levels – Bail lived in a world he was never intended for, Rouge tried to adapt to less stratified social interactions and level playing fields in a world she didn't understand, Han tried to navigate what it was like to have extended family and cherished protocols to respect, Luke tried to serve his government and his destiny with equal gentility and strength – it was all fresh and burgeoning, uncharted in the most exhilarating of ways.

Rieekan leaned forward; waving his hand slightly, gin sloshing and simmering in his glass. He took a sip, and eyed Leia intently, concerned, and curious.

"How _is_ he handling all this?" he asked matter-of-factly. "Han, I mean," he went on. "The publicity of the festivities," he listed, tapping a finger on the glass – he raised his eyebrows, "plans for the sort of – wedding ceremony your father has in mind."

Leia took a deep breath, and held it a moment – it was a difficult question to answer, if only because she had very little inkling as to how Han felt. For the most part he did what he had to do when he was told to do it which, thus far, was not very much; the primary focus had been the gala. It was only recently that focus had started to shift towards the wedding, and Leia was positive Han had yet to comprehend just how much fanfare would be involved in an orthodox Alderaanian royal wedding.

She breathed out. She nodded. She started to say something, and then she merely nodded again – Han was handling himself fine, and that was enough. If he stepped into the role of some petted and pampered aristocrat, he wouldn't be the man she wanted to be with.

"I believe I heard there's been a date chosen?" Rieekan ventured – he had been absent on a personal period of leave during the most recent Council meeting, at which Leia had pinpointed an exact scheduling for the wedding.

She did so far in advance in order to take ample time to plan for a period of vacation afterward – she wanted all of her current projects either neatly completed, or at a balanced point for a break in order to take a honeymoon with as little stress on her shoulders as possible.

"Ah. Yes," Leia said, squaring her shoulders. She raised her glass. "The seventeenth day of Galactic Standard Month five."

She saw Rieekan tilt his head, automatically running through a mental conversion of the galactic standard system of annual dates and times to the Alderaanian calendar – he blinked, quickly finished, and straightened.

"That's Equinox month on Alderaan," he remembered slowly – protracted celebrations of conservation, and the harvest. "The seventeenth," he muttered, "So, conversion to – ahh," he exhaled, smiling simply at Leia. "That would be – Queen Breha's birthday."

Leia inclined her head, pleased that he had remembered. She smiled a little.

"She should be a part of it," she said quietly, turning her eyes towards her glass. "Somehow," she murmured.

She held her lashes closed for a moment, then opened them, and gazed at the liquor in her glass – there was so much that Rouge was handling, so much Rogue was eager to handle, about Leia's wedding, and Leia's trousseau for her wedding, and Leia's this and that – and she appreciated it; she did, because she herself, though she wanted to marry Han, found it tiring, and so far removed from what she'd envisioned before her family had returned – but there were moments when Rouge's enthusiasm, and Rouge's involvement, left Leia nursing a dull, almost resentful ache in her chest – Breha never would have wanted to miss this.

Leia cleared her throat, swirling gin around. She lifted her chin and turned to him.

"Was there – something in particular you wanted?" she asked quietly, voice a little more subdued.

She sat the glass down firmly, and turned her focus on him fully, lifting one brow kindly.

"Or were you merely checking up on me?" she guessed softly – appreciatively, she hoped he understood she didn't find such subtlety on his part offensive, and she never had.

"I did want to hear how you were doing, in a personal sense," Rieekan allowed, leaning forward with purpose. His hand ventured over to the boxes he'd removed, and he rested his palm on them, glancing at them warily for a moment, and then looking back at her, "but I did have a reason for asking you here, though I," he hesitated, "I fear I might have upset you and I don't want to – continue down that…path."

Leia set her shoulders back, folding her arms lightly, abandoning her glass to the table – she shook her head silently, lips turning up in a slight smile.

"You haven't," she assured him. "I brought her up, Carlist; it's alright," she went on. "It's old pain. Tired pain. You understand."

He nodded, tracing his fingertips back and forth over the top of the boxes. He stared at his hands for a moment, and then sat forward a bit more, clearing his throat and un-stacking them – until he was sitting at the head of the table with four slim, heavily protected boxes all around him surveying them.

He flicked his eyes up and beckoned to her.

"You remember," he said gruffly, as she rose and came forward to stand beside him, one hand braced on the back of his chair as she looked down at the items, curiosity glittering in her eyes, "that I told you I may have tracked down leads on some of the stolen crown jewels?"

Leia nodded, her eyes roaming over the reinforced containers – strong, lithe metal, coated in that vibrant, almost physical loud flame retardant curing solution – could they be - ?

"I took that leave recently to meet my black market contact," he confessed. "Kessel's a bitch of a planet – ahh, my apologies, Princess – "

"Yes, you ought to apologize, I've never heard a swear word in my life," Leia said blithely—and Rieekan grinned, continuing –

"—but my contact came through, and, as it were, so did Han's smuggler recommendation; she got these out of the hands of one of the Glitterstim cartels without a scratch."

"Mmhmm," Leia murmured. "Sana is quite skilled," she remarked.

Rieekan tilted his head.

"How did Han know her?" he asked.

Leia shook her head.

"You don't want to know," she said under her breath, and nodded her head. "These are – are they, Carlist?"

He looked at them a moment, and then pulled one towards him, pressing this thumb against a safe system reader located on the front. The box glowed for a moment, then made a satisfied clicking sound and released with a hiss, popping open just slightly.

Nodding, Rieekan gingerly lifted the top, exposing the contents.

Leia held her breath, unable to blink for a moment, her eyes wide at the sight – she recognized three necklaces, two delicate, one flashy and ceremonial, all three of them bearing a history and a value to the royal houses of Alderaan.

She reached over Rieekan's shoulder and drew her fingers along the perfectly round snow pearls of one of the necklaces, remembering how heavy it was when worn, how she'd hated adorning herself with it at Senatorial dinners. Touching it now, she was reverent, she'd have worn it a thousand times without complaint to honor her planet – and she felt a sense of flickering outrage at the scratches and scuffs that had appeared on the gems; it was safe, but it hadn't been cared for properly – it had been treated badly, and the concept of that experience was more than relatable.

Leia pulled her hand back, and cleared her throat quietly, and Rieekan reached over to another box.

"This is the important one," he said gruffly, executing the same unlocking maneuver and opening it. "I believe I promised you this."

"You didn't make me any promises, Carlist," she murmured, but her heart felt like it was in her throat as she watched him lift the lid, hoping, hoping it was –

It was her mother's coronation circlet, the same she'd worn at her own swearing in as Alderaan's Imperial senator – carefully placed on a folded cloth, properly padded and protected by Rieekan. It glowed at her warmly from its safe space, polished and elegant, delicate designs of pliable white gold mined from the mountains of Alderaan, silken strands woven in its tiny creases, peppered with minuscule, diamonds and opals, there to be woven into traditional braids.

It looked as beautiful as the day it had Leia disentangled it from her hair and set it aside a little carelessly, distracted by her exhausting Senatorial duties and scowling about the trappings of royalty; it looked as beautiful as it had when Breha had worn it on special occasions, before she'd sent it to Coruscant with Leia.

She reached into the box and lifted it reverently holding, in her hands, something authentic, something from home – something of her mother's.

Rieekan looked down at the empty box, and then carefully glanced up at her, and she was absorbed in the circlet, thinking of the past – and thinking, with a deep sense of happiness, how much it would mean to her father to see this.

"I thought that might be something you would want to wear at the ceremony," Rieekan said uncertainly. "The, ah – well, the wedding, I mean."

Leia said nothing for a moment, and then she turned her gaze from the circlet to him, giving him a half smile.

"I have something else to wear," she demurred quietly. "This," she said, voice quiet, "This is fitting to be worn at the gala."

The gala was, after all, the event at which her official engagement would be announced – the event at which she'd deliver her speech outlining the future of Alderaan, hand full power concerning the Council over to her father – it was an Alderaanian crown for an affair that would probably be the last time in her life that she fully embodied her position as the Princess of Alderaan, and no other position than that.

Even the wedding, traditional as it strove to be, would not be completely as it should – primarily because Han was Corellian, and Leia wanted the ceremony held in Basic for his benefit – her mother was gone, there was no anointed high priest to perform it – the wedding, following this gala, late in the year would be the last time she ascribed purely to her native planet's customs.

Leia examined the circlet more closely, gently –

"What else did you recover?" she asked, her words soft, not taking her eyes off this vastly important piece of adornment until she heard the clicks and hums of Rieekan opening and revealing the other two boxes.

She lifted her gaze – there were a precious few sets of earrings in one, and in the other two rings, a set of woven cuffs for bare upper arms, and a bracelet Leia had always been fond of – braided, soft metal that draped and crisscrossed elegantly, fine pale gold chains that connected to rings and slid around four fingers. She'd loved to wear it during speeches; it had always caught the light perfectly when she raised her hand for emphasis or renewed attention.

Leia carefully replaced the circlet, and rested her hand for a moment near the bracelet. She surveyed the treasures, humbled for a moment – and then she drew her hand back, and rested it heavily on Rieekan's shoulder. She just held it there for a moment, applied a pressure that she hoped he could understand implicitly, and then she pulled out a chair that was closer to him and sat down, looking at him, her vigil over the jewels abandoned.

"Carlist, I have something very important to ask you," she said quietly.

He gave her one of his mild looks, and nodded his head – his usual reaction to a soldier broaching a topic with him – but then he seemed to register the weight of her words, and he tilted his head intently, his brow furrowing seriously. He nodded, giving her full attention.

Leia placed her hands flat on the table, quiet for a long moment. She compressed her lips, and straightened her shoulders.

"I intended to bring this up at a later date," she began calmly, "but this," she gestured at the finery, and she didn't know how else to convey how much this meant to her – she had no doubt that any part of Alderaan's history had special meaning to Carlist, as well, but these heirlooms were hers, her family's, and Rieekan had labored to bring them to her.

The act deserved – more reciprocated loyalty than a heartfelt thank you.

"You know that Alderaan's High Priest was killed on planet," she said.

It was a rhetorical comment; the High Priest did not leave Alderaan; he or she was a domestic figure, beholden to the aristocracy first and foremost – and Rieekan nodded only as formality; of course he knew.

"There's been little focus on searching for an official from the consecrated Alderaanian faith, but I do not expect we'll have much luck," Leia said heavily, "we weren't a proselytizing people."

The faiths were internal, often bound to the planet by desire and by choice; their most likely option was a diplomatic officer who was learned in the social customs of several different planets who could coach a local religious official.

Rieekan nodded, frowning.

"There might be some in haven on Laurensia Outpost," he said slowly. "There may be – wasn't there a small cohort, at the Religious Archival Academy on Ecumia?"

Leia lifted her shoulders slightly; she gave a small wave of her hand.

"That cohort was murdered in the retributions," she said quietly, referring to the spurts of violent eradications that the Empire had engaged in after Yavin – hunting down pockets of off-world Alderaanians and obliterating the ones the Rebellion couldn't find to warn and hide.

She bowed her head a moment, and shook her head.

"I don't feel there should be energy devoted to tracking someone down," she said carefully. "In true tradition, the High Priest is the only member of the faith who has the ranking authority to marry a member of the royal family," she reminded him.

Rieekan ran a hand across his jaw, his brow furrowing tiredly, sorrowfully – but Bail would know that; there would simply have to be some other solution. Tradition could be adhered to as best as possible, but resurrection was outside the realm of the possible.

"There must be an Alderaanian in this diaspora – "

"Carlist," Leia interrupted. She looked at him thoughtfully a moment, and then took a deep breath. "You were the highest ranking member of my father's palace guard," she said. "You're a decorated military official, and you're Han's commanding officer."

She lifted her brows at him pointedly.

"Commissioned generals can officiate weddings throughout the galaxy," she noted. "You're Alderaanian."

Rieekan looked at her, his expression guarded, unreadable. He watched her, eyes searching hers uncertainly, then with clear understanding, and then with something – indefinable, something she hadn't quite seen before, in him.

She wanted to make sure he understood –

"I would like you to officiate my wedding."

He gave her that indefinable look for a long time.

He stood, and paced away slowly, hands behind his back in an at ease posture, shoulders tense – and he turned his head towards the safe in his office, seeming to stare right through it to the core, at something hidden inside.

"Princess," he said mildly, his eyes on the safe. He paused for a long moment. "I expect you'll understand this, as you've mentioned how hard it is to bear your mother's absence in this," he stopped, taking a breath, "I've abruptly realized I will never see my own children married."

He shrugged harshly to himself.

"I won't see them grown up. There will be no moments like this."

Leia slid one hand over her mouth, pressing her fingers against her lips lightly – she felt uncertain, suddenly; had she upset him? Had she made a grave mistake in seeking to bring him into this?

"I had no intention of – placing myself in your children's shoes, no intention of causing you pain – "

He was shaking his head gently, and he turned to her.

"It isn't that at all," he said, quick to correct her, tone reflective, and earnest. He lifted his shoulders cautiously. "I suppose I am stunned to be considered worthy of the request."

Leia blinked at him biting the inside of her lower lip. Her brow furrowed.

"You would have given me away, Carlist," she said hesitantly. "Having my father present for this is more than I could have imagined, after everything, but surely you know that if he weren't – you would have given me away."

He stared at her almost helplessly, uncomprehending, shaking his head.

"You must think me a far sturdier man than I am, Princess," he said.

She heard his voice crack, though he controlled it well, and he turned, face away from her, posture strong. She slid her hand over her mouth again, daunted, taken aback that he seemed so touched.

She had felt it was a given, even before all of this, before her father's return – in the back of her mind, she'd wondered who would stand in for Bail, and though she'd half-entertained the idea of Luke, her thoughts had always gone to Carlist, commanding officer though he was, because he had been so stalwart in his constant vigilance over her.

Leia brushed a strand of hair back, and he turned to her, about face, looking at her intently.

"You were there in my father's shoes when he couldn't be," Leia said, the words tumbling out – and she'd never said so much to him, in such explicit terms, and maybe she should have, even though she was sure, so sure, that he had understood what she couldn't express.

Leia put her temple against her hand gently, resting her weight on her elbow.

"I couldn't have anticipated seeing him again, but Carlist, that doesn't change that we fought a war together. You – have always treated Han well. You let me define my own place after Alderaan, after," she paused, took a deep breath, "after the Death Star," she said quietly.

She closed her eyes, and then opened them with conviction.

"The social structure of Alderaan is meaningless between us," she said firmly. "You were never just a superficial replacement for my father."

Her words had deeper meaning than that; Rieekan had never been a stand in; he was something different. He had been a new kind of relatable connection she needed after the horrors of the Death Star and the war; they had forged a different kind of connection to fight and suffer through it all. She knew she wasn't a replacement for his children, and she never would be, and he no doubt understood he had never been Bail Organa, but she wanted him to know that their relationship, despite so much of it being unspoken and barely acknowledged, had helped her survive all those years, and she had no intention of turning her back on it simply because her father was back.

She had already realized – before her descent into the Jedi Temple, before Han and her father found their middle ground with each other, that Carlist Rieekan had an understanding of her that Bail would now never really be able to grasp, and all of that was rooted in their shared experiences losing their world, and fighting the Empire.

"I understand if you aren't comfortable with it," she said softly. "I will say that – it would mean very much to me."

She was succinct, and she waited for his reaction.

Rieekan lifted his head to her, taking a moment. He took a deep breath.

"Princess, your marriage?" he murmured. "That is a monumental responsibility," he said – and he sounded proud, and touched, to be offered it.

Leia smiled faintly, a small, wry smile touching her lips.

"Merely the ceremony, Carlist," she said, mouth turning up smartly. "The marriage itself is Han's responsibility – and mine."

He smiled at her, inclining his head in understanding. He stood for a moment longer, and then nodded once, in a very sharp, professional, military way.

"Leia," he said, in a formal tone, though he showed his understanding of what she was saying to him, with her offer, and with her unspoken thanks for all of his tacit support throughout the years: "I would be honored."

She stood, and moved forward to clasp his hand, smiling at him – she pressed it between her two small palms, the recovered crown jewels displayed on the table behind her, and she felt content, relieved – a more common feeling these days, as her two lives integrated slowly – and though it wasn't entirely a painless integration, it was an integration nonetheless.

* * *

Han was aware that his apartment had been designated as the gathering place for pre-gala festivities, but he had failed to realize that he would end up being the one in charge of entertaining, as Leia would be focused on getting ready. He was used to her taking time, and great care, to look impeccably put together for public events, both social and professional, but for this she was taking a little longer than usual.

He didn't begrudge her that; he knew this event was important to her and to her people, but she had disappeared hours ago, she had not appeared to greet anyone – which he supposed was a testament to how far he'd come with her family – and most importantly, she'd refused to tell him, for weeks now, what she was wearing to the gala, and it was driving him insane.

He was mentally twitching a little under Rouge's critical, sharp gaze – and then physically twitching as she snuck over and attempted to straighten and polish the metal ribbons on his uniform that detailed his decorations.

"Be still, General Solo, I am merely ensuring you look as presentable as possible," Rouge clucked.

Han narrowed his eyes. He shot a glare over her shoulder at Bail, and the Viceroy shrugged and strode away out of the line of sight, turning his back and peering out the balcony window.

Han glared at his back, throwing his shoulders back stiffly – the attention would at least be off of him somewhat if Luke were here, as Rouge had a motherly affinity for the kid, but Luke had yet to appear, despite having told them he would be back for the gala.

He had been rooting through archaeological ruins on Polis Massa for weeks, and doing Sith knew what in the weeks surrounding that – Han was convinced he was more eager to see Luke than Leia was, but then again, Leia checked in with him via her mental connection frequently.

It was often an odd experience to stumble upon, even if Han was getting used to it now – but the first few times he'd noticed her sitting next to him, extremely focused, as if she weren't even present in the room with him, and asked what was wrong with her only to be told _I'm talking to Luke_ – he'd been a little freaked out.

Han flashed a charming grin at Rouge.

"I'm presentable," he said, lifting his chin.

She gave him a fluttery look, and pursed her lips, brushing off his shoulders.

"You need to do something about that smile," she remarked stiffly, narrowing her eyes.

Han gave her a wounded look.

"What's wrong with my smile?" he demanded.

"I believe you know exactly what I mean," Rouge retorted primly, stepping back. She folded her arms, her white hands resting lightly on the outside of her elbows, pressing into the demure, pale violet material of her matronly gown.

Han feigned innocence, raising his shoulders. He smirked at her, and pointed to her face.

"This grin?" he questioned. "This grin is priceless, M'lady," he informed her.

"Is that so?" Rouge retorted stiffly.

"Sure, it landed a Princess right at my feet," he quipped.

Rouge scowled at him in as ladylike a way as she could, and lifted one hand, pointing at him sharply.

"Modify that smirk, General Solo," she ordered. "There's something – ah, well," Rouge faltered, squaring her shoulders as she tried to find a way to describe it. "There's something simply – vulgar about it."

Han arched his eyebrows; Rouge flushed.

"I don't know what to call it," she said, practically glowering at him.

"I believe she's trying to say you have a shit-eating grin, Han," Bail ventured mildly, turning around and strolling forward. He crossed his arms and looked between them neutrally, and Rouge sighed, lifting her fingers to her temple.

"Sometimes, I cannot imagine what possessed you to agree to this, Bail," she said tiredly, her eyes on Han skeptically – ' _this'_ being her go-to euphemism for ' _the commoner Leia is marrying'._

Han narrowed his eyes a little – but he'd gotten used to Rouge's attitude; more often than not, she didn't quite mean to be insulting, condescending, or nasty, she had a habit of failing to understand that her lack of ability to navigate her less socially stratified reality came off as – put simply: rude.

Bail pretended to give Han an appraising look.

"It's his astonishing bone structure," he said, deadpan.

Han put a hand to his chest, as if immensely flattered.

"Viceroy, I'm already spoken for."

Rouge scowled.

"I think I preferred when you two were not in cahoots," she muttered, gesturing faintly between Han and her brother.

Han tilted his head, amused, and Bail gave her a small glare – he did not consider himself and Han to be in any sort of _cahoots_ , but he did have to admit they were on consistently good terms these days, even if Han was still a roughened, somewhat irreverent shock of a man, and even if Bail still had a tendency to fumble through things as he tried to leave the past, and the way his dynamic with his daughter used to be, in the past.

At the same moment, Chewbacca and Winter entered the room from different areas, Chewbacca warbling mildly, suggesting a round of drinks before they left, and Han turned sharply to Winter, eyeing her expectantly.

"Where's Leia?"

Winter held up her hands, smoothing her palm lightly over the intricate display of braids crowning her head.

"I finished her hair," she said, placating him. "She is putting the finishing touches on her make-up."

Han gave her a pained look.

"What's she wearing?" he asked.

Winter just shook her head, and Han rolled his eyes, turning and sitting down on the couch. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, shaking his head with a small frown on his face. Winter smiled, and took a seat in an armchair, leaning over it, resting her weight on one arm.

She looked lovely, in a shimmery ivory gown; sleeveless, with a delicate lace high-neck collar. The dress buttoned all the way up her spine with very small opal fasteners, and had stitched into it geometric cut-outs around the waist, thinly covered by lace netting, that matched the same patter on the hem around her ankles.

Her hair was done similarly to how Leia's had been at the Battle of Yavin victory ceremony; Han remembered because he'd thought then that the style looked impossibly heavy, and despite that, and everything that had happened to her, Leia had held her head high all night anyway.

"You look stunning, Winter," Bail said kindly, taking a few steps over to lean down and kiss her temple chastely.

She smiled and bowed her head.

"Thank you, Pasha," she murmured, accepting Rouge's nod of approval with a gracious inclination of her head.

Bail offered her a drink, and she shrugged a little, stating that she would accept a glass of wine – she was left alone with Han in the living room, while Rouge and Bail disappeared with Chewbacca into the kitchen.

Han folded his arms, looked over his shoulder towards the hallway, and then gave Winter a look.

"Isn't it s'pose to be the wedding dress that has all the secrecy?" he griped.

Winter arched a brow.

"My, I had no idea you were so interested in fashion, Han," she teased.

He glared at her.

" _She_ told me it was going to blow my mind," he growled, "and she wouldn't tell me anything else."

"That's a woman's prerogative," Winter retorted primly.

She rested her chin on her hand and tilted her head at him thoughtfully.

"Our culture doesn't require you to only see the wedding dress on the day of the ceremony," she said conversationally, her eyes glinting mischievously. "You see, on Alderaan, the man is tasked with choosing the bride's wedding gown for her."

Han leaned back, startled. He stared at Winter for a moment, and then narrowed his eyes intently, studying her.

"You're kidding," he accused – though he was somewhere between asking her if she was kidding and assertively convincing himself she was. He didn't have the interest in – or the skill for – picking out anything for Leia to wear, much less anything as important as –

Winter smirked at him wryly.

"Don't you trust me, Han?" she asked.

He snorted. He shook his head, arching one eyebrow suspiciously – Winter had already gotten him into trouble when she, in a show of innocence kindness, had offered to teach him how to say something in Alderaanian that would warm Rouge up to him.

He found out after he learned to say the phrase properly, and went so far as to speak it in front of Leia and Bail – showing off, naturally – that it had not meant what Winter told him it meant.

He was lucky Leia had immediately realized Winter must have been the culprit – Rouge was the one person he was still having clashes with, in the most disconcerting of ways. They rarely interacted, as Rouge involved herself deeply with Alderaanian causes and commitments, and when she was around Han, she fell into the formal, slightly chilly demeanor that was comfortable for her.

She was torn between happiness for Leia, and suspicion of Han's background and his overall personality in general; Rouge trusted Bail's judgment, but she did not have the in-depth knowledge of Han that Bail had become privy to when he witnessed the aftermath of Leia's sojourn in the Jedi Temple.

Han found it easiest to deal with Rouge if he treated her as if she were Mon Mothma, though he was distinctly more familiar with Leia's aunt than he would be with the Chief of State. Overall, though, Rouge was going to have to find her own way to be at ease around him.

Chewbacca gave a loud, amiable roar from the kitchen, and Winter laughed, patting her hair again gingerly, just to check for stray strands – Han turned his head slightly, and Chewie warbled; it seemed Rouge was doing him the favor of ensuring all of his fur was lying flat and silky.

"She has to nitpick someone," Winter whispered. "If she goes too long without nagging, judging, or criticizing, she'll _die_."

Han laughed, sitting forward as Bail came into the room. He passed a glass of wine to Winter, and then handed down a tumbler with a measure of Corellian whiskey in it to Han, giving him a wry smile.

"I've been told you're not to be given wine for formal functions," he remarked.

Han scowled, looking down at the amber liquid he'd been offered – Leia had gotten it into her head that wine made him _too affectionate_ , and since he tended to drink a healthy amount at public functions just to keep from blowing his brains out, she didn't let him have it so as to insure he kept his hands to himself.

Chewbacca rumbled something from the kitchen, and then Rouge appeared, her eyes falling on Winter.

"Is Leia almost ready?" she asked. "We wouldn't want to be late."

"Well, we can't possible be early," Winter retorted, appalled.

"Shouldn't we be on time?" Han ventured warily.

 _[You've never been on time for anything]._ Chewie rumbled.

"Hey!"

 _[You were late for the Battle of Yavin],_ Chewie goaded.

Winter caught Han's eye.

"The royal family, or the guest of honor, doesn't arrive first or on time at a function like this," she explained, "but arriving too late is wildly disrespectful, and indicative of arrogance."

Han stared at her a little helplessly, and she grinned at him, almost apologetic.

"Everyone's going to be looking at you," she warned, arching a brow. She tilted her head quizzically. "At other public events, do you enter with Leia?"

Han shrugged. He had at a couple of them, but the fanfare at those centered mostly around Mon Mothma; Leia had always been an honored guest, or in her place as an ambassador – he actually _hadn't_ entered with her at that fateful gala for the Hapan delegation, which had led to her public declaration.

"Well," Winter said matter-of-factly, "most of our people will wonder why you're at her right hand for a moment like this," she explained. "On Alderaan, it would have been an outstanding honor."

Han shrugged.

"It _is_ an outstanding honor," Rouge sniffed, giving Winter a look. She lifted her glass of mild wine demurely, and inclined her head; Winter returned Rouge's look a little sharply.

"Han doesn't think of Leia as a privilege, Auntie," she said, teeth set on edge. "She's not condescending to grace him with her arm – do you realize this? He's not a social climber." Winter asked, in defense of Han. "He's not a serf. She's not a god."

Rouge's cheeks looked a little pink, and Bail gave Winter a mildly reprimanding look, if only because she'd been a little aggressive in correcting her aunt so publicly, but Winter shrugged stiffly – she was, as much as Leia, trying to force Rouge to understand that Han was not – Leia's charity case.

In the charged silence, Han shrugged, turning his eyes on Rouge. He cleared his throat a little roughly – he was better with people, in some ways, than anyone gave him credit for, and he knew what to say to advance himself in Rouge's eyes –

"Leia is a privilege," he said – his voice was flat, but sincere.

He knew he'd never been as straightforward with Rouge about his feelings for Leia, not in the way he had with Bail, and perhaps that was where some of her resistance still came from. He didn't think – necessarily – that he was unworthy of Leia, but he did consider her to be the one thing in his life that he deserved to lose if he ever did her wrong and in that way, she was a privilege.

Rouge lifted her chin, eyeing him a little more thoughtfully, and Winter shifted, arching both her eyes brows, and clearing her throat.

"Leia," she greeted, "we were just talking about you," she said softly, a wry smile on her lips.

Han whipped around, lifting his head, and though his movements were quick, he didn't miss the look of startled shock that seemed to slap both Bail and Rouge as they turned their heads to look at her, and the split second glimpse of that sent his anticipation through the roof.

He stood up as Leia stepped more fully into the room, and clenched his teeth, if only to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

He wasn't sure he'd been expecting white, no matter how traditional; she so rarely wore white anymore – but this was something else, this was a _statement_. He knew the Alderaanian penchant for white was rooted in youth and innocence – the gown Leia had chosen was indeed white as snow, but it was anything but innocent.

She rested her palm on the back of the couch, shoulders back, as she came to a stop – her father and Han were both giving her very wide-eyed looks, for very different reasons. Bail's look of shock faded quickly into mild annoyance, and Han's morphed into a delighted smirk.

Leia turned slightly, exposing the bare skin along the sides of the gown as well, and it was Rouge who spoke first –

"Leia," she remarked mildly, her lips pinched primly, "when wearing provocative clothing, it's in your general best interest to choose only one aspect of yourself to display," she narrowed her eyes, "not every aspect."

Leia smiled a little – she remembered her lessons well; if you were going to display legs, wear high-necks, and cover your shoulders; if you wished to display your back, cover your décolletage and legs – and so on, and so forth. The key was to tempt but not expose – but Leia's goal this evening was not to tempt anyone, it was to be exposed.

"This gown is floor length," Leia said neutrally.

"That's about all it is," Bail said darkly, folding his arms. He eyed the bodice of the dress uncertainly, and then averted his eyes, as if suddenly deciding it might be immoral for him to look.

Han folded his arms smugly and took a step forward, turning his back on Bail, and fixing his eyes on Leia.

"I think it's great," he said cheerfully, drinking in the image.

Leia had mentioned, in her vague references to the dress, that it had a bit of a low back - she had not elaborated much more than that, and it was clear she'd been misleading in her description. Han could tell, from the angle she stood at, that the back must plunge to the base of her spine, though what really caught his eye was the plunging v-neck of the gown's front. It cut brazenly down the middle, stopping short of exposing her navel – her arms were bare, her sides were bare, and looking her over in all that white and slim-fitting material, Han's first thought was –

 _There's no way she's wearing underwear under that._

The look was finished off with subtle make-up that was somehow as eye-catching as it was invisible; charcoal black lashes, iridescent flecks of glitter near the corners of her eyes, hint of blush – red lips.

He wanted – needed – to drag her behind a closed door and give that look proper appreciation, but all he could do was stare.

There was something about – something in the back of his mind kept catching, a sense of worry, anxiety, over her wearing something like that, but he was so distracted by her aesthetic that he couldn't -

"You don't want to save white like _that_ for the wedding?" he asked hoarsely.

Winter was quick with a response -

"We don't wear white at our weddings," she said smoothly.

Han's head turned, he narrowed his eyes at her - but he noticed she seemed perfectly serious, and he was caught off guard. It was such an unexpected thing to find out - all this white, for all these years, and they didn't wear it at their weddings? He looked at Winter wordlessly, and then cocked his brow.

"What colour, then?" he challenged.

"Whatever we want," Winter supplied, smirking softly. "We wear white up _until_ then."

Han turned to look at Leia, his eyes lingering all over her.

"What colour are you going to wear?" he asked, captivated.

Leia tilted her head a little bit, and smiled at his admiration.

"Pale gold," she ventured. "Pale pink," she shrugged. "I haven't decided."

Han imagined her in gold, and light pink - he didn't think he'd ever seen her wear pink - and then he ran his eyes over the white again, trying to take it all in and remain in control of himself. His throat felt dry, and finally, Leia dipped her head and cleared her throat, lifting a brow.

"If you've finished staring," she said, a little amused. "Han?" she tilted her head towards the kitchen. "A moment, before we leave?"

He nodded, leaping at the chance to be alone with her – it was when she turned, exposing her back to him, to the room, that the feeling of unease he'd been wrestling with settled and clicked into place – he heard a collective sharp, intake of breath from the others at a sight that was familiar to him.

The back of the dress was indeed as low as he'd imagined; the material dipped and gathered effortlessly right at the base of her spine, exposing more than just a tantalizing amount of pale, naked white skin – vividly displayed, snaking down the lower part of her back, was a faded, permanent bruise, black and blue and violet, marred with a stark, jagged scar.

Han swallowed hard, frozen to the spot for a moment, immediately finding himself more alarmed by her choice of a gown that would leave that mark unprotected than he would have been if it was merely sexier than what she usually wore.

He knew, without a doubt, that she hadn't done this by mistake; Leia was acutely aware of her scars, and previously was diligent about covering them – she would have selected this gown with absolute knowledge of what it would leave unprotected.

" _Leia_ ," Rouge breathed, putting her hand to her mouth – her eyes darkened in distress, and Han understood why; when he'd first seen it, he'd thought it was fresh, too – Rouge must be scrambling to imagine where Leia could have gotten hurt recently.

Han knew it was old, tired, painless now, in a physical sense – she'd told him when he run his hands over it so gingerly on the way to Bespin – _It was something they gave me on the Death Star. It won't go away. It doesn't hurt._

Han turned his head to look at them, and Winter sat back, resigned. It seemed she had already seen it – when she was attending to Leia's hair, or perhaps even earlier. Bail cast a strangled look between his daughter and Han, his gaze finally falling on Han, demanding an explanation.

"Tell me you aren't responsible for that," Rouge ventured, her eyes on Han, wide and pale.

Han's lips drew back in a snarl, and he saw Bail put a hand on Rouge heavily, shaking his head quickly, drawing her back a little.

"No, Rouge," Leia said, speaking up calmly. "It isn't fresh."

She gestured behind her, elegant hand brushing what part of the ruined skin she could reach.

"My bloodstripes," she quipped dryly, "from the war."

She tilted her head, and turned her head a little.

"Han?" she prompted again.

At that, he strode forward, shaken out of his momentary stupor – his momentary rage at Rouge for even daring to think – and he rested his hand flat over the bruise, leading her into the kitchen to comply with her earlier request.

She let out a breath slowly, and leaned back around the counter in the quiet; Han stood before her, almost toe to toe, looking down at her curiously.

"Leia?" he asked. "You want 'em to see that?" he ventured.

She closed her eyes lightly, swallowed hard, and nodded, hesitating.

"It's deliberate," she said, her voice shaking. "I had the designer modify the back line so it would be exposed," she confessed, lifting her eyes to his, looking at him through her lashes.

He was silent, waiting for the rest of her explanation. He didn't want to question her, because he didn't want her to think he disapproved, or was ashamed of the way it looked.

"I want them to see it," she said softly. "My father, Rouge, everyone else," she listed. "This gala is for Alderaan, and everything its people suffered, and there's no reason for me to hide it like I was unscathed."

He placed his hands on her shoulders, slid them towards her neck and leaned down to kiss her. She slid her hands into the jacket of his military uniform and pressed her fingertips into his ribs.

"I'm having second thoughts," she whispered unevenly – insecurity about the way she looked, about the way she'd be perceived if she appeared spoiled and fractured, fragile, in front of the world.

Han shook his head.

"Don't," he encouraged, stroking his thumb along her jaw.

"How do I look?" she asked, tilting her head at him earnestly.

He tried to find the words. There were millions of words, in millions of languages, and he was coming up short because nothing seemed to fit. He nodded at her approvingly, drawing his thumb across her bottom lip.

"Good," he said simply, somehow infusing the one simple compliment with every vibrant, flashy word in the galactic lexicon.

She smiled, and pressed a kiss to the scar on his chin. He slid one hand down her arm and moved it around her back, pressing his palm over that bruise, as if to let her know that if she changed her mind, his hand would be there to protect her from prying eyes.

"Sweetheart," he said in her ear, voice gruff, words low, "you've got guts."

She leaned back, and took a deep breath.

"You won't have experienced anything like this, Han," she warned quietly – she'd felt a sense of apprehension for days now, worry for what Han was going to be hit with.

She was used to this; Han was somewhat used to public attention because of the past few months of their relationship, but this would be an actual position of visibility for him, and he'd be subject to certain expectations – and she didn't want to do it to him; she knew he'd hate it – she knew he was appeasing her family for _her_.

He shrugged.

"It's not like it's an asteroid field," he drawled, "with the Empire on my tail."

Leia laughed hoarsely.

"Worse," she joked.

"I can take it, Leia."

She swallowed hard.

"Consider it a trial run," she ventured quietly, "for the wedding."

The wedding would be more public – less volume of guests in a physical sense, but likely more media coverage, and more significant than an announcement, and an award.

She watched his throat move as he swallowed, steeling himself. She leaned forward and reached for the collar of his starched uniform shirt, unbuttoning. She was silent, pressing her lips together, pushing material aside deftly. Han tilted his neck, unsure of what she was doing, until she pulled him down towards her and pressed her lips to his throat in a searing kiss, leaving a clear print of red lipstick.

He smirked a little as she re-buttoned his shirt, covering the brand completely, leaving it there to burn under his collar for the rest of the night, a reminder of who she was when she was just his, outside of the public eye.

She lifted her head and met his eyes.

"We ought to go," she remarked lightly – places to go, people to see; grand occasions to preside over. "Ah, before Rouge decides you're in here beating me," she quipped dryly.

He nodded, rolling his eyes a little – he was sure Bail would have questions about that bruise, and he could only imagine the flutter of attention and the smattering of awed whispers it would get – but he sensed it would be cathartic for her, another milestone on the long, uphill path she walked to reclaiming her own skin.

* * *

Leia had wondered what it would be like, this gala.

She had been to countless affairs such as these in her life – charity benefits, diplomatic soirees, elegant political celebrations, and grandiose social events. She had cut her teeth in ballrooms with high ceilings filled with priceless artwork and stunning architecture; she'd been taught to entrance and entrap within palace walls, draped in silk finery to soften the edge of bureaucratic ruthlessness.

She was no stranger to this life and to this pageantry, but nonetheless she had wondered what it would be like. She had not been to an event organized by Alderaanians, focused on Alderaanians, under the auspices of her father, since she was so much younger, since before the days of the Death Star, and the war.

She had never expected to be in this situation again, Princess in every sense of the word, wearing a white gown and her mother's coronation circlet as if it were natural – it felt like stepping into skin just barely too small for her, a little tight, a little painful, but familiar all the same.

Inside this grand reception hall, traditional music wafting around the artwork, it felt as if they had managed to recapture the magic of home, harness the comfort they longed for.

The differences were stark, but subtle, too; she felt the usual tangible reverence she was given due to her position, but it was juxtaposed with Han's constant presence at her side. He drew the eyes of curious citizens, Alderaanians who had heard time and time again that this man was their princess's paramour, but were somewhat taken aback to find him at her side in this capacity.

The bruises on her back drew more curious eyes, but none of the wild whispers she had expected – the looks were subdued, dark with anger and remembered rage, even, as if they were seeing her marked skin and remembering the invisible marks on their own psyches that had gouged in deep when Alderaan had died, and would remain, unhealed, until the end of time.

There was a sense of community that she remembered from the days when she'd been just a Princess, and just their senator, not a soldier for the galaxy, a fighter who belonged to a squadron and an ideal – and she cherished it, and loved it, everything Alderaan and her family had provided her from the day they welcomed her as an infant.

She felt it all here, even in the different expressions of joy and nostalgic loss all around her; she sensed the respect and care these people still had for her, and for the Organas overall – and her father's guidance of it all was beautiful; from the moment Mon Mothma opened the gala by announcing their arrival, he had placed himself in a visible spot, taking time to touch the hand of everyone who clamored to see him.

Leia handled herself in her element well – keeping one eye out for Luke, relying on Winter to assist her in directing Han. He was tense at her side, wary of all the attention, tight-lipped when he was spoken to, especially near the Media. He was so used to his and Leia's agreed upon policy of refusing to engage the press about their relationship, that he seemed suspicious of the fact that she was so fluidly speaking with press and dignitaries all around her now.

She was effortlessly deflecting specific questions about Han, though, until the official announcement later in the evening – with a kind, but knowing sort of comment resembling something like _"General Solo is receiving an award at this event"_ but Han sensed that his significance had already been guessed; the Alderaanians, at least, seemed to have decided that he wouldn't be allowed to perennially rest his hand on her back if he were anything less than her fiancé.

Han, for his part, was restless, wishing the kid was here – he and Luke usually spent these sort of functions skulking around the open bar, and Han was finding that Leia and Winter had both been right – he'd had no idea what he was stumbling into, at an event where he was a bona fide distinguished guest, aligned with the royal family, rather than just Leia's escort at a New Republic even she asked him to go to with her.

He was used to the spotlight in a different way; in the sense that when he'd been a target of attention, it was generally because someone was hunting him for revenge; he was unused to a spotlight that wanted him to politely describe how he felt about military readiness, or what it had been like handling the survivors after he stewarded them out of the ruined Alderaan system.

He turned his head now, shaking it a little, his attention drawn by Leia's elbow gently nudging into his side, and he grunted softly, arching a brow at the person in front of them – he'd been introduced, it was – it was –

"Tycho," the man said promptly, holding out his hand firmly. "Tycho Celchu; I was a pilot in the intelligence squadron," he paused, and gave Han a small grin, "I was four classes behind you at the Imperial Academy," he added. "Your rep was still lingering in the halls."

Han extended his hand – so this was Winter's escort, her teenaged sweetheart who had miraculously been one of the survivors, just like her. Luke may have said there was no official attachment, but Han was willing to bet that, whatever Winter's proclivities, her heart would eventually settle with this one.

Shaking Tycho's hand firmly, Han narrowed his eyes.

"Which rep?" he asked dryly.

Tycho laughed a little.

"Well, all we got from the Imps was the spiel about how a star student could get booted if he was too soft hearted," Tycho quoted the old mocking words with a roll of his eyes, "but for someone like me – the story about you throwing it all away for a slave wasn't derogatory."

Leia felt Han's discomfort – in the praise, in the reference to a part of his life he usually tried to forget. It wasn't shame that provoked him to abolish the memories; he was glad he'd stood up for Chewbacca – he'd just been a different person then; a lost person.

"What section you graduate from?" Han asked gruffly, endeavoring to hold up a polite conversation.

A tight smile touched Tycho's lips, and he inclined his head.

"I withdrew," he said, "after Alderaan was targeted while I was on a comm call with my mother."

Winter laid her hand lightly on Tycho's arm, and squeezed, and Han nodded grimly – looking back, he didn't know how any decent men had made it through those academies, knowing what they went into when they left, and who they worked for, but back then, he'd been like Tycho, probably – unconcerned for the system he lived in, as long as he was comfortable, and could find a way to survive.

"I used the intelligence skills they taught me well in the Rebellion," Tycho offered, and Winter rested her head gently on his arm for a moment. He clasped her hand, and then stepped back a little.

"If you'll excuse me," he said quietly to her, "I want to speak with General Rieekan, if he'll acquiesce – Winter, a drink?" he offered.

She nodded, requesting champagne when he returned, and Tycho turned to Leia, bending forward low at the waist, holding is hand out palm up. Han watched her place her fingers in his, and Tycho hovered his lips over them.

"Princess," he said respectfully.

He stood up, and to Han's surprise, turned to him with military bearing, lifted his hand to his head in salute, and bent forward at the waist – though not as low.

"General Solo," he added – then two steps back, turned on his heel, and strode off in Rieekan's direction with Winter's drink order in mind.

Han arched his brows, staring at him, and then turned a glance on Leia, unsure if he should smirk or start laughing.

"That guy just _bowed_ to me," he snorted.

Leia shifted on her feet, nodding simply, and Winter supplied the explanation – neither of them seemed surprised.

"It's because you're with her," she said matter-of-factly. "It's out of the protocol rulebook. You're established as the Princess' escort, therefore you get afforded the level or respect that a mid-ranked aristocrat would get – a Duke or a Count."

Han blinked at her warily. He frowned a little, and looked down at Leia with a grimace.

"People are gonna bow to me?" he asked suspiciously.

She ran her hand over his wrist, squeezing his arm.

"Don't get used to it, Flyboy," she quipped, her words light but her eyes earnest – it was just a natural habit for them, so much of this was reminiscent of the way her life used to be.

Han frowned a little more – he didn't want to get used to it; he felt ridiculous being catered to. Han's bravado and pride in himself, his aura of arrogance, was a product of his vital need to prove his abilities and his worth, to survive; he didn't want to be bowed to, he wanted to be on equal footing.

Leia suddenly pivoted on her foot at his side, jolting forward a little, a smile breaking across her face.

" _Luke_ ," she called, raising her voice loudly – she drew some attention – warm smiles, and interested looks, and people stepped aside to give her brother a clear path to her.

Luke made his way over with a wide grin, unconcerned with his tardiness, stretching his arms out to catch Leia's shoulders as he walked. She wrapped her arms around him in a relieved hug – glad he had made it, glad he was back for a while ant out of danger, and kissed his cheek chastely as she pulled back, smiling warmly.

She narrowed her eyes good-naturedly.

"You told me you'd be back yesterday," she admonished.

He grinned wistfully, reaching up to scratch his jaw sheepishly.

"There was no trouble I just – well, I got distracted," he said, excitement bubbling over, "there are so many Jedi artifacts on Polis Massa, and I think I uncovered some old caches on ancient planets of Jedi – "

"Hey, slow down, Kid, save it for the working hours," Han interrupted, reaching out to clap Luke on the back. He arched his brows at him in welcome and Luke laughed, turning to give Han a hug of greeting, as well.

He stepped back and gave his old friend a smug look.

"You look princely," he snorted, narrowing his eyes smugly – Han scowled at him, rolling his eyes, pulling at the collar of his military dress uniform, and then gestured sharply at Luke.

"Hey, at least I cleaned up," he retorted – Luke had managed to get into his military dress for the gala, but it looked wrinkled and just barely presentably; even in black tie regalia, it seemed, he managed to look dusty, sandy, and windswept.

Luke pulled at his jacket and brushed his hands over it.

"Better than I looked at the Yavin ceremony," he said dryly, glancing over his shoulder to check his back. He flashed a smile at Winter as he straightened back up, and she inclined her head in greeting, tilting her head.

"You didn't arrange to bring a date, Luke?" she asked, eyes sparkling. She lifted her chin, and flicked her eyes around. "I saw Dansra Beezer on the arm of Wedge Antilles."

Luke nodded cheerfully.

"I knew I would be cutting it close with the date – Dansra's been seeing Wedge for a bit, now," he advised.

Leia tilted her head, her lips pursing.

"Oh, Luke," she began, frowning. "I'm sorry," she murmured – she hadn't heard that Luke had stopped seeing Dansra, but then Leia rarely heard anything about Luke's personal life, and he had been gone for weeks on end now.

She glanced at Han and then looked around for Wedge, arching a brow.

Luke waved his hand though.

"He's better suited for her," he said easily. He laughed a little. "Dansra got what she wanted out of me. She's a fantastic woman."

Leia was staring at Luke, her mouth pressed together tightly, brows arched a little, and Winter laughed, placing an arm on Luke's shoulder lightly and leaning into him with a charming smirk.

"She doesn't understand," Winter advised, gesturing loosely at Leia. "She has no comprehension of casual intimacy."

Leia's face flushed a soft pink, and she turned a glare on her friend, straightening her shoulders.

"'Casual intimacy is an oxymoron,'" she pointed out primly, narrowing her eyes. "I understand the concept, Winter I just," she faltered, "don't see the value in the _practical application_ of it."

"Generally, physical gratification – or some sort of ego validation, for those less secure in themselves," Winter fired back smoothly.

Leia raised her eyes to the heavens.

Han shared a look with Luke, and raised his eyebrows.

"You think we're still talkin' about sex?" he asked gruffly.

Luke spread out his hands, palms up, and grinned, shrugging. Leia elbowed Han, flushing again, and he smirked down at her, while Winter gave him a wry smile.

"You'll have to amp up your arsenal of euphemisms and clever synonyms in order to have salacious conversations at demure functions, Han," she advised.

Han gave her a skeptical look – flowery language was not his forte, and what she'd just said was a mouthful that could have probably put into five words.

Leia gave Winter a dirty look and focused back on Luke.

"You look good, Luke," she said. "I take it you've had a productive time?"

Luke laughed a little nervously at her collected inquiry.

"Oh, you're – you're in full royalty mode," he snorted, teasing her a little. His lips turned up at the corners, and he nodded. "I found our birth certificates in the archives on Polis Massa, if we ever need to prove we," he broke off for a moment, noting that Leia had turned pale.

The brief pause caused Han to look down at her curiously, and he rested his hand on her back, concerned.

Luke hastily finished – "prove we exist, Leia," he said earnestly. "I only meant…prove we exist, there's hardly anything on the birth certificates," he said, stumbling over his misstep quickly.

Leia compressed her lips, and Han knew she must have been imagining a birth certificate out there that listed Darth Vader in glaring ink – the idea was absurd, but of course it's where she'd gone – and Han gave Luke a slightly annoyed Luke.

The kid winced, and shook his head again.

"No, I see where you thought I was going with that," he muttered. "They're nothing, Leia."

She unstuck her lips finally, and took a breath.

"Then how do you know they are ours?" she asked stiffly.

He smiled softly.

"It's our birth date," he answered, "and there are archived blood samples – I matched mine," he paused, "the names are only listed as 'Human Male L' and 'Human Female L' but," he grinned, "the mother is listed as a medical refugee and there's a note that services rendered were paid for by Bail Organa."

Leia smiled faintly – what a strange, concrete, eerily tangible thing to hear, secret birth certificates in a secret place, all signed off on and arranged by her father.

Han pressed his palm gently into her lower back, and Leia took a subconscious step closer to him, her shoulder pressing into his side. She cleared her throat softly – Luke clearly had stories to tell, and Leia – found she was interested to hear them, but now was not the time.

Han lifted a brow at Luke and lowered his chin, smirking a little.

"Lando wants to know if you tracked down that woman he told you about," he said gruffly.

Luke looked around curiously.

"Is – Lando here?"

"Lando is on Coruscant," Leia said, "but he's not _here_."

Luke tilted his head back and forth thoughtfully. He supposed that made sense – Lando wasn't Alderaanian, wasn't a particularly close acquaintance of Leia's, wasn't that high-ranking – he nodded, and then nodded again, brightening and smiling vividly at Leia.

"I found her," he allowed, something determined and consternated in his face, "her name is Mara Jade."

"And?" Han prompted smugly.

Luke smiled blithely.

"She hates me," he said. "She tried to kill me twice."

Leia looked horrified.

"Luke," she exclaimed, alarmed – in none of their communications since he'd been gone had he mentioned –

"I'm fine, Leia," he soothed cheerily. "She'll come around. I got the impression she was testing my mettle rather than truly attempting to execute me."

"Sounds like she was flirting with you," Han said dryly.

"Do you know many women who flirt by expressing a violent dislike, Han?" Winter asked, amused.

Han gave her a somewhat incredulous look, and then pointed directly to Leia, his finger hovering near her eyebrow. Winter tilted her head curiously at Leia, and Leia darted her head to the side, smacking Han's hand down gently.

"She flirted with me like that for three straight years," he said solemnly.

"That was not flirting. That was, for the majority of those years, genuine violent dislike," Leia sniffed.

Han leaned down and put his nose against her cheek playfully.

"Was not," he retorted. "You always liked me."

Leia pinched at his ribs, trying not to laugh.

"Laser-brain," she growled.

"Oh," Winter said, arching her brows beautifully, "this is adorable."

"Get a room," Luke threw out, scrunching up his nose.

Leia slid her hand around Han's middle and pinched his ribs again, extricating herself. She gave him a small smirk, and then took a step back, colliding with her father.

He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her, and she jumped a little, immediately composing herself appropriately. Her cheeks flushed slightly, but her father said nothing as he greeted Luke, and then cleared his throat, gesturing to the dais at the far end of the grand ballroom.

"Mon Mothma is ready to give your opening remarks," he said. "Winter, if you could line up the honorees?"

Winter nodded, gesturing to Luke and Han to silently show she already had two of them. Han reached over to run his hand over Leia's bare back one last time, and she smiled at him calmly before she walked off with her father.

Winter directed them to their spot near the side of the dais, where they'd approach to be given their medals. Han immediately leaned against the wall behind him, shoulder slouched, surveying the room warily – Leia's speech to her people came next, followed by Bail's remarks on his rescue, his announcement of Leia's engagement, and Leia's awarding of the medals to the rescue team.

Han wondered how long they would be required to stay after that, and wondered what the diaspora world think, even if they'd already guessed, of the irrevocable announcement that he was going to marry their Princess.

He caught the eyes of several of the guests as they looked over at him – Alderaanians were difficult to read in so many ways, but he didn't think any of them looked hostile – no Aunt Rouge reactions, nothing as extreme as Threkin Horm.

He swallowed hard, and Luke caught his attention by catching his elbow in his hand.

"Hey," he said, his voice low, as Mon Mothma took the podium to applause, and all eyes turned away from them and to the speaker. "How's it been?" he asked wryly, using the speech as cover. "How's _Leia_ been?"

Han looked up at her, standing, regal and composed, as Mon Mothma introduced her and called her forward, and he admired her dress, and the line of her shoulders, and the breathtaking way Winter had arranged her hair so it wove in and out of her mother's circlet in intricate, loose braids.

He looked down at Luke, crossing his arms. He nodded firmly after a moment.

"Good," he said simply, honestly.

And there was truth in the statement, so much truth – things had gone forward; things had only progressed since Han and Bail had found level ground, and the things that Leia wanted were set in stone and promised to her.

"She _seems_ good," Luke said, a satisfied look on his face. "I heard there was some pretty brutal trouble with some Alderaanians last month," he said heavily. "I hoped it hadn't affected her too badly."

Han shrugged a little grimly.

"It did," he allowed – but it hadn't set her back the way learning about Anakin Skywalker's past had, and it hadn't caused too much personal damage – it had been a nightmare for the New Republic and an extremely difficult political and emotional situation, though.

Luke shook his head – he'd heard the news when he was on Naboo for a few weeks, catching up on news after he emerged from the radio silence on Polis Massa. The Alderaanian Vengeance Brigade had assassinated a former Imperial officer during a live feed of him being marched from the courts – he had not been convicted in the Tribunal courts due a to a lack of tangible evidence, and the AVB had sought their own retribution.

The public nature of it was bad enough, but Leia knew as well as everyone else that the man was guilty – however, she was in the position of having to honor the justice system she was fighting to establish as impartial, trustworthy, and fair, and sympathizing with her own compatriots. The Imperial officer's family had demanded a trail for the Alderaanians involved, while many Alderaanians, despite their aversion to the violence of this one rogue sect of their diaspora, expected Leia to grant clemency – and the AVB made it worse by refusing to deal with Leia directly; preferring to reach out only to Bail.

Leia had always had her tensions with the AVB, but she'd been irked at their withdrawal from her – she thought herself best able to understand them, since she'd gone against her cultural background and been a warrior as well, but they were so far gone in their grief and need for revenge that they saw her participation in a fair and just court system as a betrayal.

Han hadn't been involved much, other than one incident he had to deal with in a joint effort with Bail; he'd only been home for the more private aspect of it. He knew the whole incident had prodded at Leia's sore spots and insecurities about her place regarding Alderaan, and her people's view of her.

Aside from that blight, though – the past three months had been fairly smooth sailing, as smooth as it could be, and Han was satisfied with his assertion that Leia was good – that, he thought, was illustrated even more by her boldness in wearing that evocative gown to this event: exposing everything for the world to see.

As if on cue, Luke jolted forward suddenly, his eyes wide as Leia stepped back to turn and gesture at her father, welcoming him.

"What's on her _back_?" he asked. "Han, what _is_ that?" he asked.

Han grunted in a vague way, indicating Luke shouldn't make a big deal out of it.

"It's from the Death Star."

"It – it should have healed ages ago," Luke said weakly, turning wide eyes on him.

Han shrugged again – it was some toxic mixture of all they'd given her, because Han knew most injections had been given at the base of her spine, or between two of her fingers, and the result of some experimental pain serum.

"It didn't," Han said simply – he listened to Leia's strong, mellifluous voice, dancing over the words of her speech, musical and gripping, and he shook his head in awe – showing off that scarred bruise…he thought it was one of the bravest damn things she'd ever done, and she was no stranger to bravery.

Han looked over at Luke, and noticed the kid was rubbing his artificial hand with a grimace, his hands pressing hard into the place where it fused with his wrist. He figured he was thinking of his own damage, and looked away – he had tuned out for Mon Mothma's part, and for most of Leia's unity speech. Leia was a powerful orator, but he preferred hearing her talk to him in private – he chose now to perk up his ears, as the Viceroy was commenting on his experiences in the past few months, and beginning his closing with the only part Han cared to hear –

"The difficulties we have been subjected to are unimaginable, utterly beyond definition – and so, it might seem silly that I found my most difficult hurdle was discovering how much my beloved daughter had come to hold her own in this raw and fresh world you've all been constructing."

Han rolled his head back against the wall, watching. He hadn't heard any of what the Viceroy was going to say – unlike Leia, who he'd heard running over her speech in her office every night for the past week - and so he listened.

"The effort that has gone into this gala in order to celebrate Alderaan's past and present, and what Alderaan will be in the future, is a bright spot in all the darkness our people have experienced."

Here, Bail paused, and looked over at Leia for a moment. She stood at his side calmly, and looked out over the crowd, her eyes finally finding Han's, and connecting with him. Her lips turned up subtly.

Bail took a deep breath.

"Alderaan was a place of peace; a place of preservation, respect, and enlightenment. We sought to find the best in people, and to make the best of every situation. It is that resilience that has strengthened us, that has enabled us to survive – I endeavored to instill that integral mix of what it is to be Alderaanian in my daughter from the moment Queen Breha and I brought her into our home. In all that I have witnessed, I can say without a doubt that Princess Leia has been the kind of indescribable leader that history will never forget – in facing impossible odds and unprecedented tragedy, in making the toughest of decisions, and in standing her ground when many would have given up."

Here, Bail was interrupted by a soft shout of approval, a word in the native language from the audience, and a loud swell of applause, and Han grinned, his eyes still on Leia – though she had lifted her eyes up, obviously caught off guard by her father's ringing praise.

The viceroy waited for the adoration to die down, and he cleared his throat.

"I'm glad you all agree," he quipped, to polite and good-natured laughter. He took a deep breath, and held up two hands. "As one of the last of House Organa, I am the steward of our name and legacy – a symbol of the past, a guardian of history and tradition. Princess Leia is the embodiment of our Rebellion, of our fight, and what we stood for – and we will work together to carve out a place for Alderaan in this new world, integrating ourselves, surviving, blending tradition with the avant garde – and with new blood."

Bail smiled a bit wryly.

"I do promise I am getting to the point," he remarked – again, to laughter, and in the noise, he paused to compose himself, to keep his voice steady. When silence respectfully fell again, he went on: "I know you are all familiar with General Solo – whether it be due to his record during the war, or the flurry of Media attention and speculation targeted at him regarding his association with Princess Leia," Bail began.

He looked around a moment, gauging the room.

"I am sure his presence here tonight, at my daughter's side, confirmed plenty of suspicions – we know our planet's protocols well, do we not?"

Bail allowed a wry smile, and Han felt eyes on him – both subtle and overt, interested and delighted, or just curious, or just – accepting.

"Now, I won't spend too much time on this, as rules between fathers and daughters exist even between Viceroys and Princesses," he said dryly, looking at Leia with amusement, "and I wouldn't want to embarrass her or her," he paused again, and raised his hands as if the term was questionable, " _young_ man," there was a smattering of laughter, and Luke snorted, elbowing Han with a smug look.

Han glared at the Viceroy, and Bail smiled at the crowd.

"Princess Leia has accepted a proposal from General Solo," Bail said succinctly. "She does not need my permission, but I have given my blessing. It is my hope that my fellow Alderaanians will join me in wishing them well."

Bail held his hand out towards Han in what was a natural gesture for him—but Han was caught off guard, immediately put off by the spotlight. He was sure he must have drawn amused looks as he stared around at them skeptically – there was clapping, soft murmurs of congratulations in Leia's native language, a few camera flashes – Luke ducked out of the way, and Han desperately wished Leia was at his side rather than up on stage – all this attention directed at him?

He told her he could take it, but he was suddenly daunted, wary of it all – he'd agreed to this, and furthermore, to this extravaganza of a wedding – was he going to be expected to live out his love affair for public consumption?

He turned his head, looking at the dais with an unreadable expression – and Bail was hastily reclaiming attention; Han noticed Leia leaning away from him as if she'd just spoken, perhaps warning him that Han hadn't known he was going to do that.

"Without further delay, I will present medals of honorable service to the scout mission members and highest ranking military officers who rescued by flagship," he said regally.

Han straightened, almost reluctantly, to take his place with the others who would walk up to the dais – and the way he was looked at now felt so strange to him.

He stood next to Luke, approached the dais so very much like they had at Yavin - -but there he'd been a nobody, a rough-and-tumble smuggler, embittered by his life experiences, searching for something, and lacking the insight to know he was standing right in front of it.

He stood in front of Leia now, with all eyes on him, and he had no taste for glory, and no concern for his ego or for himself; he felt only a fierce desire to protect her, and what he had with her, and he focused on her as she placed medals around Wedge's neck, and Gavin's neck, and Luke's neck, and Jan's neck – and all the others, until she came to him, and stood waiting for Winter to hand her the final medal.

He met her eyes, and drowned out everyone else until it was only the two of them in the room. He resented the publicity surrounding them, but no part of him resented her, because he'd fallen in love with the very parts of her that made her an invaluable leader.

Leia draped the medal around his neck, and he was struck by how languid the motion was – years ago, on Yavin, her motions had been formal but swift, she'd taken care not to touch him; now her wrists brushed his hair and neck, and she flattened the leather strap of the medal to his collar, fingertips grazing his throat.

She leaned forward, steadied her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him full on the lips there, in front of everyone.

He was taken aback, too startled to move – if anything broke protocol, that had to, and it was only after she stepped back, the barest hint of a blush on her cheeks, and he saw the vaguely scandalized scowl on the Viceroy's face that Han gave in to a self-satisfied smirk.

That was the silver lining that glittered around his abrupt, lurking sense of turmoil over who he was expected to be in her public life – there was no longer any doubt in anyone's mind that he was a permanent part of Princess Leia's life.

* * *

It was a late night, one of those parties that faded into midnight in a blink, and still lingered even when dusk was threatening, and Leia stumbled through the apartment door with Han on her heels in a sort of stimulated quiet; she felt energized and exhausted at the same time.

Han caught her at the waist, his fingers brushing at her sides until he had a good grip, pulling her back into him. She expected him to spin her around and kiss her, but he buried his face in her neck, breathing in deeply, breathing out in a rush, and when he lifted his head a little to press his cheek against hers, she sensed his utter relief to be back in the silence and privacy of their home.

She reached up behind her to brush his jaw, turning her head just slightly.

"Nightcap?" she suggested, keeping her voice as hushed as the atmosphere around them – there was no need to turn on lights, they knew their way around.

He nodded wordlessly – Han held his liquor well, and she knew he had easily taken the edge off; she had, until the very last, winding down hour, kept with royal protocol and only had one glass of champagne for every two glasses of sparkling water – as the guests faded and the gala began to end, she'd joined Han in drinking a little more liberally.

He moved past her, and he was almost silent in the kitchen. She trailed in behind him, slipping her shoes off and abandoning them, leaning against the counter and watching him at the cabinets. He selected wine and whiskey at the liquor rack, and she rested her weight on her elbows.

She watched him a little curiously, her brow creased. He seemed – not upset, but somehow withdrawn, or guarded, and nothing had happened – to her knowledge – that would have provoked that.

He turned and handed her a glass of wine, tipping a glass of whiskey with two shots in it towards his mouth and swallowing half, and she tilted her head at him intently. She smiled a little, placed her glass to the side, and leveraged herself up on the counter, perching on the edge easily.

Her legs dangled, heels hitting the cabinets underneath, eye-catching white silk of the dress falling against her thighs, and dipping between her legs, and hitching to reveal ankles and thighs – and the way she sat, relaxed, shoulders down, let the material fall away from her skin a little, and he could see shadows of her breasts underneath.

She picked up the wine glass again and sighed, taking a sip, her eyes closing tiredly – social events like these were inevitably draining, but a part of her thrived on them – she was suited to them, bred for them, but Han – she knew Han wasn't, and maybe that was why he seemed so guarded now.

He walked forward, his legs pressing into hers. He finished the whiskey he'd poured himself and set it aside, sliding it safely away, and his hands fell to her sides, running lightly over silk dress and bare skin, winding around to her back – exposed skin he'd been tortured by all night, in that stuffy, formal setting.

She held her wine glass closer to her chest, protectively, her eyes closed heavily as he touched – he traced constellations on her back, fingertips feather-like and possessive over the bruise that had drawn so much attention, pressing closer to her.

Leia sipped her wine idly as his touch expanded, his hands brushing against every bit of bare skin the dress had teased him with. He pressed his lips to her jaw, the corner of her mouth, the sensitive spot behind her ear, and she navigated her wine around him, her stomach shivering – she thought about him too, all night; she was just better at hiding it.

He drew one hand from her lower back, over her ribs, around her knee. It rested there a moment, and then he pulled up he dress in two quick motions, sliding his hand underneath and letting the material cover it.

Leia bowed her head and pressed her forehead to his chest, clenching the rim of her wine glass between her teeth suddenly. He found, after all those hours of wondering, she was wearing something underneath – a scrap of lace that barely passed for lingerie. He pressed his thumb against her through it, and felt her draw in a quiet breath, press her knees into his hips lightly.

He pressed his other hand flat against her back briefly, then slid it down and lifted her just enough to pull the panties off, stepping back to get them over her knees, down her legs – abandoned on the floor. He pressed close to her again, between her legs this time rather than just against them, lunging forward to kiss her collarbone, her throat.

Leia tilted her head back for a moment. She brought the glass of wine to her lips, already considering its heady effect redundant to how Han made her feel, and one of his hands found its way between her legs again.

She bit the inside of her lip and tipped her head forward, a shock running up her spine – he was so, so –

She gasped and her hand trembled; she drew her arms close to her chest for a moment, cool exterior of the wine glass pressing into her exposed cleavage, and then she leaned forward heavily and rested her chin on Han's shoulder, precariously placing her arms over his shoulders, glass of wine held loosely. She closed her eyes; he kissed her throat again, a firm, promising kiss, augmented with a little bite that drove her wild.

His hand moved between her legs, smooth strokes, intimately familiar with what was good for her, and then he curled his other hand around her knee, lifting her leg against his waist.

She turned her head slightly, lips brushing his neck, curling in her hand to press the wine glass against her cheek.

"Do you want to go to bed?" she asked softly, shifting herself, straightening a little – the movement of her arm, and a slight movement of his, jolted her hand and almost spilled her wine, and she reached behind her to set it down, turning her full focus on him.

He shook his head, eyes on hers intently.

"No," he answered. His fingers tangled in the material of the dress pointedly. "I want you to keep this on."

Her lips turned up slightly, and she nodded, struggling with another one of those unbearable shocks up her spine – when he looked at her like that, talked to her in that low growl, the intensity of anticipation was damn near too much.

She quirked a brow.

"You like it that much?" she asked quietly.

He looked her over, shaking his head reverently – he leaned forward to press a kiss to the exposed skin of her chest, his hair brushing her neck.

"Sweetheart," he mumbled, incoherently, almost desperately.

He trailed kisses up her neck, to her ear, a quiet groan of frustration escaping his lips.

"Been thinkin' about this all night."

She moved closer, raising her knees a little, reaching between them to pluck at his belt. She attended to the task with both hands, and he took her face in both hands, pressing his mouth to hers hard, demanding, kissing her until she had to stop her work with his belt and grab onto his shirt, un-tucking it shakily, tilting her head up to break the kiss only so she could gasp for air.

" _Han_ ," she gasped.

He moved his hands to her breasts, slipping his hands under the material of her gown – his palms were rough in the right kind of way, and her hands were shaking again as she loosened his belt and unfastened his trousers, her head pressed against his chest.

She tried to catch her breath; he grazed his teeth against her throat, then along the hemline of her bodice, and her head fell back.

"Han," she repeated, a chirping, pleading sound.

He pulled back a little, extracting his hands from her gown only to tangle them up in the skirt of it, hiking it up over her knees. She grasped for it, holding it out of the way between them, handfuls of material tight against her stomach, and he took her hips in his hands and pulled her forward, angling her hips towards him.

Leia lifted one of her knees, bracing her heel at his belt; she tilted her head back, pressed her lips together hard as he slid inside her, and grabbed his arm tightly, pulling herself forward against his chest.

He braced an arm near her hip and held her around the waist, his head against her shoulder, jaw clenched tightly. She lowered her knee a little, shifted her hips forward firmly, and he groaned, sliding his hand up her back. He lifted his head to look at her, pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"You good?" he asked hoarsely.

She nodded wordlessly, turning to catch his mouth against hers.

"Comfortable?" he asked into the kiss. He shifted a little and she tilted her head back her breath catching.

She closed her eyes tightly, nodding again, her hands resting at his hips, then at his shoulders, then on his neck. She wrapped her arms around him and placed her hand on the back of his neck, mouth pressed into his shoulder – he could feel her teeth bared.

Han closed his eyes for a moment, his hand splayed over the bruise on her back, fingers gripping her hip, possessive and protective all at once – she was his, his, only his, she wanted him, and only he knew her like this –

He moved one hand and hooked it under her knee, holding it against his side firmly. She kept her head pressed against his shoulder as he moved, until his slow, teasing pace was agonizing, and she lifted her head, her fingers moving against his shoulders the back of his neck, twisting in his hair.

"Han, _Han_ ," she whispered – soft, hoarse whispers, and her breath kept catching in her throat, rhythmic – every inch of her pressed against him, overwhelming him, and he held her closer, tighter, listening to her breathing.

He closed his eyes – her nails caught against his neck, leaving scratches, the marks quickly soothed by her lips, soft, apologetic kisses, then scratches again, and her quiet, controlled gasps reached a fever pitch, spilling into high-pitched whimpers – _Han – h- h – harder, Han yes-yes_ –

Her words faded, drowned in a sharp cry; her nails were sharp in his neck, then her fingers were soft in his hair, clinging, pulling, and she was turning her head back and forth, finally tilting it back, breathing hard, her shoulders shivering – he drew his eyes over her, watched her abdomen tighten and relax under white material, and she shifted forward against him hard, finding his lips with a satisfied moan, her hands slipping through his hair.

She nodded gently, sliding one hand around to his chest, twisting it in his shirt, relaxing her knees for a moment, then lifting them again – she opened her eyes and met his, sparkling, flushed, lips parted, and he caught her hips in both hands, confident she was taken care, of desire taking over.

She wrapped her legs around him tightly, heels digging hard into his back, angling her hips just right, and his hands moved frantically from her hips to her ribs, gripping, tight and gently, sliding up over her shoulders, into her hair, tangling up in strands that came loose easily.

Leia arched her back and his hands flew to her hips with a groan, pulling her towards him, anchoring her against him; he heard her murmur something, felt her legs shivering around his waist – her hands were fluttering at his neck again, twisting in his hair – he thrust into her hard one final time, his teeth catching at the shoulder of her gown, grazing her skin – he heard her gasp, cry out again, and felt a twinge of concern –

" _Leia_ ," he managed, a raw, husky groan, mumbling the word into her shoulder, hands relaxing on her hips, shoulders shaking, blood rushing through his ears.

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, barely taking a moment to catch his breath – the room seemed muted, then impossibly loud; Leia was shaking; he could feel her hand shaking against his neck, and her lips shaking as she kissed his shoulder through his shirt, kissed the line of his jaw.

He lifted his head, his breath ragged, vision still recovering. He reached for her face, thumb running over her jaw.

"Leia," he said huskily. He searched her face for signs of distress.

She looked back at him languidly, her eyes a little wide, lashes quivering slightly. She licked her lips, and he straightened up, bowing his head a moment. He reached for the white silk material between them and drew it down a little, easing back from her.

Leia breathed out quietly, her lashes fluttering, and she reached for him, pulling him back to her immediately, wrinkled clothing between them, flushed skin seeking out flushed skin. She found his lips for a kiss, rested her head on his chest.

He ran his hand through her hair, loosening it, half-heartedly disentangling it, and he held her for a moment, his fingertips fluttering across her scalp thoughtfully – she'd cried out again, and he'd thought – his first thought, for a disoriented moment, had been that he hurt her – he thought of her nails against his neck again, though –the claws always came out for a specific reason.

Han pulled back, tilting his head to catch her eye. He looked at her intently for a moment, drawing his hand lightly down her face to rest his knuckles against her jaw.

"Leia," he started, tilting his head. "You," he started, trying again – his voice caught.

She turned her head slightly and brushed her lips against his hand, listening. He cleared his throat quietly.

"You came twice," he ground out finally.

She smiled brilliantly into his hand. She kissed his knuckles, then looked at him through her lashes and straightened, resting her hands against his shoulders for a moment, tangling fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He leaned in to kiss her, and she held herself as close to him as she could, her heart still beating out an intoxicating rhythm, her body still sensitive to the press of him against her.

His hands fell again to her back, and the exposed bruise, and held her there, held her close; he breathed her in, kissing her slowly, drawing it out until he had to take a moment to breathe, and kissing her again. His touch was a comfort, a constant reminder that she was desired in spite of everything – he smirked at her, his eyes glinting, roguish and smug, and she held his gaze for a moment, and gave him a soft, blush of a smile.

He looked back at her, and she saw, for a brief moment, that conflict, that guarded shimmer, and she tilted her head, running her palm lightly over his heart, unsure what it could be.

* * *

Leia's white dress ended up hung neatly over the carved footboard of their bed, a bright spot in the dark long after the lights had turned off and the room was quiet – her gaze rested on it even as her eyes adjusted. She appreciated Han's enchantment with it – rare were the occasions when he wanted her to keep her clothing _on_ for as long as possible.

She found it a little chilly in their room; she'd slipped on a loose shirt of his before collapsing into bed, and he lay next to her on his stomach, the sheets drawn up only to his waist.

She sensed he was still awake, and she listened to him breathing in an even, controlled pattern – not pretending to sleep, actively trying to fall asleep. He seemed restless even though he was still, and he had seemed so all night; she turned her head a little, deciding it was not something she could ignore any longer.

"Han?" she ventured quietly, her voice a sudden, musical note in the silence. She did not wait for him to respond – "What's wrong?"

He shifted. His head, buried face down in the pillow, remained there for a moment, and then he turned onto his side and wrapped his arms around her, assertively pulling her close. She poked one of her legs between his knees, tangling herself a little closer, and blinked curiously at his chest, somewhat taken aback at the tension in his muscles.

She swallowed hard, hesitating, about to ask again; he nudged her head with his nose, shrugged a little, and –

"You think it's too late to elope?"

His voice was gruff, light, infused with his usual devil-may-care-drawl, yet she sensed an underlying seriousness, and she pressed her hand against his chest gently, her stomach twisting uncomfortably.

Leia shrugged her shoulders back to loosen his grip and rose up on one elbow, tilting her head at him. He ran a hand over his jaw and arched his brows, grimacing at her and starting to shake his head.

"Leia, forget I said anything – "

She cut him off with a thoughtful look, something in her eyes effectively silencing him. She didn't feel – threatened, not threatened; the wrenching sort of feeling in her gut was a concern that too much was being asked of him – and there was a _lot_ that was suddenly expected of Han.

Leia hadn't been operating in her traditional Princess role since before she'd met Han, and she had not gone back to it in the formal way after the War ended, and tonight had been something unfamiliar to him and – distasteful, no doubt, in an even worse way than past galas, because he'd been expected to be _proper_.

She drew in a breath quietly, sliding her fingers into her hair, rubbing her foot against his ankle.

"I would have married you in a courthouse on Corellia a year ago," she murmured. "I…it's hard to say what I envisioned, because we never talked about it until," she paused, sighed, "Father's return." Leia bit her lip lightly, slowly going on, her voice softer: "It's important to Father. It would have been…very important to my mother."

Leia ran her hand over her forehead, her brow furrowing.

"I know it's a lot, Han. I know it seems…ostentatious, and self-involved – "

"Leia," he muttered gruffly, shaking is head shortly.

He looked frustrated with himself, and tilted his head down. He ran his hand over her hip, pressing his palm against her ribs warmly, curving his hand around her tightly.

He tried to figure out what was bothering him about it all – but it wasn't any single thing; this world just wasn't his element. Hell, the New Republic military was a strange enough place for him, after so many years lived just on the cusp of the law, if that. He didn't want to reflect badly on her, and he knew she was – her career intentions were less Princess-centric and more elected official, but he was suddenly starkly concerned that their lives were going to be public property, at the Viceroy's request.

"I don't like sharing you," Han said, almost wincing at his own words – did he sound jealous, possessive, like some kind of sexist thug? He compressed his lips, his jaw tight.

Leia smiled, and brushed her knuckles against his chest. She adjusted her head on her palm.

"I know," she said quietly. She met his eyes intently. "Han, I understand."

He seemed relieved, and he reached up to rub his jaw, his hand hovering over his mouth for a moment.

"I don't," he started, breaking off. "Leia," he confessed, a half-frustrated groan, "there's gonna be people we don't give a damn about at this wedding; _dignitaries_ ," he said warily, "just there 'cause you're a Princess, and it's a privilege," he shook his head. "I don't want to – I don't want to tell the whole world things I say to you."

Leia breathed out quietly, moving closer. She touched his jaw, and smiled at him, letting her hand fall between them. His thumb drew circles on her hip, and she swallowed hard.

"You don't have to," she murmured. She shook her head to reinforce the words, pressing her knuckles against her temple lightly. "Your vows can be as generic as mine – Han, I'd go to a courthouse with you. I don't need the dress and the pageantry," she said hoarsely.

She stopped to bite her lip, lifting one shoulder helplessly.

"I think it would break Father's heart," she said, her voice wavering. "It's important to him that he gives me away. I think it's important to my people, that they get this last honoring of tradition before," she sighed, pausing to gather her thoughts. "It's like he's giving me away to be, to be," she hesitated, curling her hand towards her chest as she tried to define it, "ah – it's his way of letting go of the past. I do this for him, and I thank him, and Alderaan, for everything they did for me, and I can feel – I can feel more at peace with choosing my next roles, as – Chief of State, or an Ambassador – "

She trailed into silence, her cheeks flushing – it sounded silly and philosophical, but she did understand, very deeply, Han's aversion to a wildly public wedding. He had said he'd do this for her, he told her father he'd do this for her, and she was somewhat relieved that he'd still been brutally honest enough to voice his misgivings, because she'd rather hear them, and move forward with sensitivity, than have him think she didn't care, or she wanted him to get over it.

"Do _you_ want this?" Han asked.

He lifted his head finally, resting it on his palm, mimicking her position. His eyes searched hers intensely.

"Your dad asked me to do this," he said gruffly. "I asked 'im if that's what you wanted – you've never said," he pointed out.

Leia had never, in the months – in the year – since he'd first asked her to marry him, definitively said anything about how she wanted to get married, or when, or where – the planning for this seemed natural to her, and he knew her desire to make her father happy was strong, but this was – it was her wedding; weren't women particular about that?

She flicked her eyes down, and took a deep breath – and her answer surprised him.

"I do," she whispered.

She knew he was expecting her to shrug, perhaps say no, give a little speech about duty – it reminded her that Han had always known her post Death Star, and sometimes he could be shocked when a little of her more feminine, royal background peeked through her scarred tapestry of post-war skin.

She licked her lips, and looked up to find him – smug, almost, brows raised at her.

"I knew it," he said mischievously.

She ticked up one eyebrow mildly.

"Knew – what?"

"You love being a Princess," he quipped – despite her frequent downplaying of her status during the war, the stories of her escapes from the Palace, her tom-boyishness –

Leia blushed a little, amused, rolling her eyes. She leaned closer earnestly, her face serious, eyes wide.

"Alderaanian weddings are beautiful," she whispered. "I wanted one, when I was a little girl – I never thought I'd have one, after the planet was destroyed. I could have replicated the ceremony but," she paused, "I never thought I'd find someone – like you."

Han smirked at her, his shoulders relaxing a little.

"If it's what you want, Sweetheart," he said gruffly – she sensed wariness still, and she reached out to run her hand over his, interlocking their fingers and holding their hands against her abdomen.

"Han, I've always had a public life. I was raised in the public eye, I was a junior legislator, I was a senator before I could legally drink in half the civilized systems," she murmured, "that has been my job – but until recently, my personal life was never open game – Alderaan's media never would have dared, and in the Imperial days, I had no personal life to speak of. Our relationship is ours. Tonight was different, and the wedding – it all might seem like we're in the spotlight, but I have no intention of forcing you to be something like a, a – consort," she chose the word with a grimace.

Han laughed shortly, grinning at her, but his brows rose earnestly, and she went on –

"You'll marry me and that will be that, and it will be old news – where's the scandal if Viceroy Organa approves? Where's the drama? It will fade. You don't have to be involved in politics. You can – you can do contract work, you can trade," she listed.

He cleared his throat.

"If you're runnin' the government, I'll be – in the public – I'll have to do stuff – "

"No," she corrected softly. She arched her brows. "Mon Mothma isn't married. She handles her position and then, for all we know, goes home and has a personal life – you aren't required to be – what I'm saying is, there's no precedent for a spouse."

Leia laid her head down, smiling a little – she thought maybe Han was thinking of the way Leia's life might have been on Alderaan, if she'd married someone who was familiar with the social structure, someone who would have handled Alderaan's throne while she worked in the Senate – or perhaps vice versa, if she'd taken the crown, and her high-born husband had followed in Bail's footsteps – but Leia expected none of that from Han.

She hadn't expected him to change who he was, and be something he was not, before her father's return, and she didn't expect it now.

There were some things she was doing very much out of a sense of duty and respect, and there were some things she was drawn to for nostalgia's sake, and because of her mother, and deep emotional attachments to her culture.

She wasn't going to be able to fall back into the role she'd had before the war, and honoring a tradition did not change that.

Han laid his head down next to hers and frowned, shaking his head.

"You don't think it'll matter?" he asked dryly. "You bein' with someone who hates politics?"

Leia shrugged.

"I don't love politics, Han," she murmured. "I'm very skilled at politics. I was destined for the political arena, I think, but I don't love the _politics_ ," she paused, pointedly, "I manage the politics. What I _love_ is making the world better."

She batted her lashes, swallowing thickly.

"I want to make the world better."

Han leaned forward and kissed her forehead, brushing his lips over her brow.

"You do, Leia," he swore huskily. "You go out there every day and demand the good in everyone."

She snuggled closer, pressing her forehead against his chest, right near the steady beat of his heart. She took a deep breath, hoping he was soothed – hoping he always knew that he was so important to her, and it was so powerfully overwhelming to know that he was out of his element in her world, and he was still here anyway.

It was strange, the way it was easy for her to slip into fatigues or smugglers' clothes, to run around in back alleys and bars in disguise, to act as a spy and a gambler when she needed to, find camaraderie as a lieutenant, and then be exactly the prestigious diplomat in an instant, appearing as if she had no knowledge of what it was like to sweat and bleed in the trenches.

She'd felt less constrained when she was one of the soldiers, one of the boys – and so she understood what Han was feeling, being watched, being held to a certain standard that he considered arbitrary and archaic, even.

"Father and Rouge are going to handle most of these wedding plans," Leia murmured. "I'll have my own responsibilities – it won't fall on your shoulders; I won't let it."

She kissed his shoulder.

"You do have to show up," she advised wryly.

Han laughed gruffly.

"Who's gonna walk _me_ down the aisle?" he asked, feigning offense.

Leia leaned back a bit, caught his eye with a smirk.

"I could ask Jan," she drawled.

Han glowered at her.

"I'd rather kiss – "

"A Wookiee?" Leia asked, arching a brow. "I think I can arrange that."

He grinned at her, the tension fading from his entire being, and the last bit of guarded uncertainty evaporated from his eyes. He slid his hand up to her neck, tilted her head up, and kissed her; she felt his relief, and the tension and worry in her stomach uncoiled – she was glad it had only been wariness over the spotlight, over what she expected of him, and nothing more sinister.

"I know there will be a lot of frustrations in the next few months, until this is all over," Leia ventured softly, "please know that I appreciate it so much. I love you," she paused, "so _much_ ," she emphasized. She pressed her lips to his lightly, hand on his face, eyes on his. "We're always going to have a public profile, Han, but they don't _really_ know who we are."

Han nodded. He knew that, to an extent – their level of involvement in the Rebellion, and the new government, had solidified intergalactic fame, and would have even if she hadn't already been a well-known Princess – he just felt a palpable sense of solace in knowing that they were still on the same page.

He touched his forehead to hers, and then laughed, the sound staying in his chest, quiet and gruff.

"What?" Leia asked, lifting her eyes.

"I was just thinkin'," he drawled, "I was – a while back, I was bent out of shape 'cause no one thought you should be with me," he pointed out sheepishly, "now I'm bitchin' cause your old man gave me a blessing, and they're all expectin' me to be your right hand."

Leia giggled softly – he was right, she remembered a similar scene, though it felt like a lifetime ago, his hard, raw worry that her people were turning on her because of him, his frustration and bitterness over the way people like Dodonna and Mon Mothma suddenly treated him – her swearing she'd be happy as _Leia Solo_ and nothing else –

"You _are_ my right hand," she said primly, resting her arm over him gently. She arched her brows. "I don't need you in politics," she noted, "but I need you," she said softly.

Han rolled towards her shifting his pillow onto hers, erasing all space between them. He breathed her in, his face pressed against her neck, quiet for so long she thought he might have fallen asleep. He shifted his head, then, barely, so she could hear him echo her –

"I need you," he mumbled gruffly, stumbling through the words so fast she barely grasped them. "Leia," he growled gently, pressing a kiss to her jaw, burying his head in her shoulder again.

Leia moved her arm so that she could run her fingers through his hair gingerly, gently working at small, ruffled knots, falling silent – nothing else need to be said, and she closed her eyes – it was so late; it was so late, and it would be dawn in the blink of an eye, and she'd get up and face her structured, whirlwind life again, and he'd stand his ground in it.

* * *

 _i felt like it was fair that we draw out some of Han's other internal conflict, because he's consistently been selfless about it throughout, and maybe now things have settled enough for him to be a bit more vocal about it._

 _a few notes: I made references to My Big Fat Greek Wedding and Jack Ruby in here, can you spot them (probably only relevant to Americans, the Jack Ruby bit) - also, please forgive me if there are huge, glaring editing mistakes. my beta and i went through this quickly to get it up. It's likely I will scan over it again lately._

 _anyway, i hope the update was worth the wait._

 _-alexandra_


	31. Thirty

_A/N: Hey y'all - thank you so much for your continued engagement and patience during the wait for this chapter / the Epilogue. I really appreciate it, and it's been really inspiring and motivating. I hope it's been worth the time spent anticipating it, and I'm honestly overall grateful to everyone for reading. This chapter is not so much plot as it is conclusion (obviously, I guess) of Identity and its major conflicts. So - let's roll!_

* * *

 _Thirty_

 _*five months later [post-Gala]_

* * *

The Embassy's royal quarters were appropriated as headquarters for all pre-wedding activities on the day of the event. The residence was the most ideal place for Leia to spend her last hours as an unmarried princess; it was close in proximity to the traditional venue she had settled on; the Alderaanian Cathedral dedicated to the Old Religion, adjacent to the greenhouse and gardens. The royal quarters provided ample space for members of the wedding party and those behind the scenes to spread out while still being conveniently in one place and it was, for all legal intents and purposes, Alderaanian soil – the only true Alderaanian soil left – and perhaps more important than anything else, it was a place so familiar to Leia that she could feel her mother's presence.

She had chosen to make the antechamber of the Queen's quarters – a cozy, beautifully decorated area with a stone hearth and a homey feel – her dressing room. The royal residence had specific private quarters for the Queen, and separate quarters for the consort, though the custom of sleeping apart hadn't been practiced within Alderaan's royal houses for a very long time.

Alderaan's queens, when they were on Coruscant, often had used the Queen's quarters for business or for private preparation for balls and social events, and so Leia felt it was fitting.

She was perched on an antique stool, leaning forward onto the matching vanity. She rested her chin light on one palm, blinking at her reflection in the mirror – there was a flutter of lively, respectful activity around her as she was attended to. Her hair, her nails, her make-up – last minute finishing touches on her gown, polishing of jewelry – she was surrounded by reverence, and she was being pampered, in this room in the residence that had belonged to her mother.

Breha Organa had often sat at this vanity and brushed her hair, and more often than once, when Leia was very young, she'd sat at her feet and watched, waiting for her to be done – when she'd reach down and pick Leia up, and kiss her on the cheek and smile.

The furniture was old, the room was old – filled with history and tradition, and it wasn't merely Breha's, it was a place that had seen so many queens of Alderaan, and so many princesses, a line of women who had seen their reflections in this mirror, a line that culminated in Leia – a child of the galaxy brought up by Alderaan, a woman who would tie Alderaan's fiercely proud past to its unsteady progression into the future.

Leia closed her eyes lightly, sighing softly, breathing out through her nose with her lips closed reflectively.

She felt the gentle-firm touch of her aunt's fingers in her hair, and she tilted her head obediently – Rouge was standing behind her, deep in concentration as she tended to Leia's hair with the assistance of another Alderaanian woman.

The hands in her hair were comforting.

She had one arm outstretched, held delicately in the palm of a manicurist, and she sat rather far back from the vanity so that the young girl lacquering her toenails could work.

Rouge, who was the architect of the entire event, had hand-picked Alderaanian woman to aid in every aspect of Leia's wedding – hair, nails, make-up, sewing, flowers – and with determination, had paid for the apprenticeship of anyone who did not already have the skills needed, but wanted to help. Thus women who, years ago, likely never would have imagined brushing elbows with the royal family were present in the room, involved in this important occasion.

Leia thought it was one of Rouge's loveliest ideas of all; though she'd gotten more than used to doing her own hair and make-up over the years, and the indulgence and attention was a little unnerving for a moment, she knew what it meant to those who held tradition so close.

"Your Highness," murmured the woman to her left, and Leia opened her eyes and turned her head, careful not to move too much.

The woman lifted Leia's hand a little, showing her the manicure. The finished result was an elegant snow white polish with a startling, glittery gold floral design, and Leia's lips parted in pleasant surprise – this woman had been a novice at nail art when Rouge sent her to be educated in it, and now –

"It's beautiful, Emra," Leia murmured sincerely, nodding her head for emphasis. She waved her fingers very slightly, and the gold paint caught the light nicely.

Emra smiled, her eyes kept respectfully low. Leia turned her hand slightly and crooked her finger, moving it in an indication that Emra should look up. She did, and Leia smiled.

"Infinitely more imaginative than I could have come up with myself," she added – she knew Emra had been struck with nerves when Leia had told her to go with what she artistically thought would be best.

"The gold touch will bring out the gold in the gown, Your Highness," Emra ventured quietly.

Leia nodded, sparing a glance in the mirror for the dress hanging up in the corner. There were two older women eyeing it critically, ensuring it was properly pressed and looked its absolute best.

Emra stood, and placed Leia's finished hand gently on the vanity. She took her stool and moved around to the other side, giving Rouge a respectful berth, and held out her palm patiently.

"Your other hand, Your Highness," she requested quietly, eyes down again.

Leia lifted her chin from her palm and obediently handed her un-manicured right hand, inclining her head towards Emra with a small smile.

"The diminutive is fine, Emra," she said.

Emra gave her a flushed look, hesitated, and then nodded, lowering her eyes to attend to applying the lacquer to Leia's already filed and cleaned nails.

"Yes, Lady Organa," she agreed, correcting herself – and Leia breathed out a relieved sigh; despite the fact that she was frequently called _Your Highness_ by government officials and the high command, of late it was usually a preliminary sign of respect, and then they reverted to her title of _Ambassador_.

Hearing _Your Highness_ so very often today had been a little uncomfortable, and perhaps it was merely uncomfortable because she was starkly reminded that there was a time in her life when she would have been more apt to notice if someone _didn't_ address her that way.

Now, there were more than a few people who never called her anything other than simply _Leia_.

She sat up a little straighter – she couldn't possibly risk mussing up Emra's gorgeous nail art by resting her chin on that hand. The movement of her head prompted Rouge to click her tongue and move Leia's head to the side a little – she smirked, shooting her aunt a stubborn, nostalgic look in the mirror.

"It wouldn't be so difficult if you hadn't chopped it all off," Rouge _tsked_ primly, taking a step back to watch her assistant work.

"I did allow it to grow out," Leia reminded her – after the gala, she had agreed not to touch it again until her honeymoon, so Rouge could fix it into a proper Alderaanian up do.

It was not, in her strict opinion, back to its appropriate traditional length.

"Perhaps it should _not_ be woven into the vines of the crown," Rouge mused thoughtfully, tilting her head.

She gave an aristocratic flick of the hand, a gesture that came naturally to her, to indicate to her assistant that she should pause. The woman did, and stepped back; Leia caught her aunt's eye in the mirror.

"I would like it braided through the crown," Leia requested - she thought it was the best way to ensure the flower crown stayed put throughout the ceremony and grand reception, but the process was painstaking – thin strands of hair woven through the vines and flowers and braided in a small circlet to essentially fasten the crown loosely to her hair.

"Well, I do agree that it wouldn't look very neat if we just placed it atop a circle of braids," Rouge allowed, frowning thoughtfully. "It would seem like we just threw it on – you're sure you want that particular crown, dear?" she pressed. "Breha's circlet – I can weave gold threads in, even," she began to trail off at the look on Leia's face.

Leia raised one brow silently – Rouge was not particularly taken with the flower crown. It had nothing to do with its cultural significance – at least, not in the sense that she resented it was a Wookiee tradition. She simply felt it didn't quite have a place in the Alderaanian ceremony. Rouge seemed most disappointed that the crown was taking the place of a tiara and a lace veil, though Leia had long settled that argument with a rather blunt –

' _I won't wear the veil, Rouge – it symbolizes virginity and I am not a virgin.'_

To which a _very_ annoyed Aunt Rouge had responded –

' _You may as well just walk down the aisle naked young lady! There's such a thing as a white lie! I still wear my hair braided in public, am I to understand you think I'm a virgin?'_

Leia and Winter still found that exchange to be particularly amusing – and they felt it needed serious investigation, at a later date when they had more time.

"The flower crown is important," Leia said diplomatically.

"You could save it for the reception," Rouge bargained.

Leia turned, remembering to keep her hand still but forgetting about her foot. She heard the woman tending her pedicure start to make a remark in protest, and then she swallowed it in a little squeak, and Leia winced, mentally going through triage – Rouge first, then the girl –

"Aunt Rouge, Han _made_ this," she said emphatically. "He sat in a tree house and he got cuts on his hands so he could bring me this," she reiterated, inclining her head. "He picked out flowers he knows are my favorite. I will be wearing it."

Rouge considered her, and then nodded simply—and Leia turned, fixing an apologetic look on her pedicurist.

"Yvsa, I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "Don't worry about fixing it if I've scuffed it up," she said.

The girl shook her head quickly – she was young, so very young, only ten years old when Alderaan had met its end, and her mother had brought her to Rouge praising her skill in cosmetology. She was anxious and nervous around Leia, honored but so scared to be around someone she'd seen as a larger-than-life image in her childhood.

"N-no, Your Highness," Yvsa said breathlessly, shaking her head vigorously. "It's only that – I – the polish is fine, it's that I spilled – there's lacquer on your foot," she explained faintly, clearly horrified with herself.

Emra quickly handed Yvsa a cloth with remover on it, smiling encouragingly at her. Leia glanced gingerly down at her feet, shrugging as Yvsa blotted the smudge earnestly.

"That's nothing to worry about," Leia soothed. "Did you know I walked through a brillet weed swamp barefoot once?" she asked conversationally – brillet weed was a red, slimy, muddy plant native to swamps on many planets, and she'd been up close and personal with it while in a cave, hiding from Imperial forces sometime after the Battle of Yavin.

Leia clicked her tongue softly.

"I'll take lacquer on my feet over those weeds any day," she remarked.

Yvsa looked up at her with an admiring look, and then quickly glanced back down, clearing her throat.

"Yes, Your Highness," she said, her hand shaking as she picked up the polish bottle again. "I'm almost finished here, Your – "

"The diminutive," Leia prompted gently.

"Lady Organa," Yvsa said reverently.

She lifted Leia's foot and placed it back on the small stool, and Leia watched her fondly for a moment, before lifting her eyes back to the mirror. Rouge was watching her assistant make precise, intricate movements with Leia's hair, and Winter was returning, slipping into the room through the doorway.

She had her dress looped over her arm to make it easier to walk, and Leia didn't miss the disapproving look that graced Rouge's face at the sight of Winter's bare legs flashing around due to the hiking up of the material.

Striding forward gracefully, Winter let the dress fall to the ground in an opal-white cascade. It swirled around her legs as she approached Leia, careful to avoid all the people gathered around her to work on different parts of her look.

She leaned against the vanity, facing Leia, perched lightly on the edge, and held up three slender tubes, lifting her eyebrows. Her cool blue eyes glittered, and she tilted her head, the Arallute petals in her white-blonde hair danced a little.

"Lip stains," she announced – she'd disappeared earlier in search of colours that were just right; Rouge's selection had been distinctly devoid of anything other than pale peaches and beiges, and Leia had left her lip colours in her apartment.

"This is red," Winter said, flicking one selection lightly. "A very straightforward red, the sort one could wear at a bar, or a brothel – "

"Winter," growled Rouge warningly, only to have Winter ignore her blithely.

"I've also selected a rosy pink that will likely darken a little on your lips," she guessed, gesturing at the next little pencil of colour. "A natural effect that might otherwise by achieved by you biting your lip on your wedding night as your new husband – "

"Winter _Retrac_ ," Rouge snapped, glaring.

Leia swore she heard two of the attendants laugh quietly, but they did it with such subtlety, Rouge either did not hear, or let it slide. Winter gave her surrogate aunt an innocent look, and shrugged, presenting the last option.

"I suggest this one," she said wryly. "It's a plum tint – I've never seen you wear lipstick with a purple hue, and this one will go nicely with the arallutes in the crown and the gold glimmer in the dress – it's got just enough of a red, purple, and rose blend."

Winter paused, and smiled slyly.

"Besides, I stopped by Han's and smudged each colour on his wrist and asked him which one he liked best on his skin," she revealed, "for – later."

Rouge gave a frustrated noise.

"Winter, can you behave yourself for half a moment?" she demanded.

"No," Winter said sweetly.

Leia arched her brows.

"You did no such thing," she guessed coolly.

Winter smiled brilliantly.

"I did think about it," she relented, fanning the three options out again. "You might consider what colour would look best on that stunning jaw of his," she teased.

Leia felt Rouge begin working on her hair again with prudish vigor, and she bit back a laugh, considering the colours. She lifted her free hand and pointed at the last choice Winter had given – she was right; Leia hadn't been known to wear plum shades, and it struck her as a bold sort of classy.

Winter gave her a wry nod of approval, set the rejected colours aside, and leaned forward. She took Leia's face in her hand gently and angled the lip stain pencil expertly, waiting for Leia to purse her lips so she could work her magic – Winter had taken care of Leia's make-up personally; she had a particular talent for highlighting inherent beauty so that Leia looked enhanced rather than painted.

She drew the pencil along the bow of Leia's mouth with care, holding Leia's jaw impeccably still, and Leia found herself completely in the hands of others – the maids at her manicure and pedicure, Rouge's hands in her hair, Winter closely sharing her personal space – and it felt safe and comfortable, and she closed her eyes.

"Lady Rouge," the older maid behind Leia murmured respectfully. "This braid – should it be so complex?" she ventured. "If General Solo is not familiar with the technique," she broke off, hesitating, and Leia felt Rouge's hands stop moving in her hair.

"Leia, will General Solo have trouble unbraiding an Aldera aquatic style?" Rouge asked.

Leia opened her eyes lightly. Winter pulled back her pencil a little to let Leia speak, and she answered –

"No, he's pretty familiar with all the styles I've worn," she answered mildly. She smiled wryly. "He can undo a five-strand tight braid in about ten seconds."

Rouge folded her arms, arching her brows, impressed – five strand braids were treacherous enough, what with the propensity for knots, but one that was woven tightly – close to the head – that was even trickier, as it was often sensitive _and_ very likely to knot up.

"A talent I did not expect him to have," Rouge remarked. "Where did he acquire it, I wonder?"

Leia arched a brow. Winter rolled her eyes dramatically and put her pencil back to work on Leia's lipstick, glancing up at Rouge pointedly.

"I'm sure he acquired it from all the times he's raked his dirty smuggler hands through Leia's hair in bed, Auntie," she retorted seriously.

Rouge frowned, glowering. Winter pretended to ignore it.

"Unless he prefers the braid in bed – does he, Leia?" Winter paused, making quite a show of pulling back the pencil to allow Leia to speak.

Leia lifted one shoulder innocently.

"Only when I'm being bad."

"Ladies," Rouge scolded grumpily.

"Rouge, it's her _wedding_ day," Winter said with a laugh, her eyes glittering. She lifted Leia's chin, concentrating hard as she put the final touches on the lipstick. "A little indecorous teasing is tradition."

"No, I rather think you should have gotten that out of your system on Maiden's Night," Rouge pointed out sternly.

"Her Maiden's Night was a little unconventional," Winter snorted quietly.

Leia didn't have the luxury of gallivanting around liquor-soaked establishments celebrating, and she hadn't particularly wanted to. She'd chosen something low-key and private with only Winter, instead – though the unconventional part was, naturally, that she'd gone home to Han afterwards.

Rouge's hands returned deftly to Leia's hair, and she lowered her eyes pointedly.

"Unconventional," Rouge murmured. "Despite all the tradition we've adhered to, this entire affair is quite unconventional."

Winter drew back, studying Leia's face. She pursed her lips, and Leia took the hint and mimicking it. Winter sketched a little more colour on and then stepped back, satisfied. She perched on the edge of the vanity, smiling smugly, and lifted her eyes to Rouge's.

"Aunt Rouge, are you still so very resistant to Han?" she asked – a little exasperated, a little fond, and curious – Rouge had, after all, had months upon months to adjust, and Han was no longer a stranger to her.

He was no longer a stranger to anyone in the family.

Rouge glanced around at the maids silently, seeming to gauge their trustworthiness – she was used to servants who had been in the employ of House Organa for many generations, and though she had handpicked all of the handmaidens for this occasion, she wasn't used to them.

She seemed to focus more intently on Leia's braid.

"Oh, he's no blue blooded gentleman, but he's a good man. I know that, girls," she said quietly. "He'll always seem rough to me," she reflected, "but he's never rough with you, Leia."

She fell silent, and then shrugged.

"I've told you before that it's very difficult to subvert the social mores I was indoctrinated with in terms of upbringing and of inherited collective, unconscious memory."

Leia tilted her head a little; Rouge adjusted it pointedly back the way she needed it, and then looked up, lifting her painted brows thinly.

"Curiously, I find myself thinking that your marrying General Solo has almost been a blessing, rather than the curse I was determined to see it as," she remarked wryly.

Leia closed her eyes briefly, lightly, to hide her rolling them. She sighed quietly and lifted her chin just a bit, waiting for her aunt to continue – Winter made a quiet, amused noise in her throat, and stared over Leia's shoulder at Rouge, anticipating.

"He's proven himself not to be a social climber in the least," Rouge laughed, as if it were the most shocking thing to her – and even rather foolish of Han, considering what he could gain from Leia's power and prestige.

"And how has he done that, Aunt Rouge?" Leia asked patiently – she was, prior to this moment, unaware that Rouge had reformed her opinion of Han's designs regarding Leia's position

"Well, social climbers try harder," Rouge pointed out, amused. "If he had any – ambitions, pertaining to – politics, or power, he'd cooperate when I try to dress him, and fix his speech, and correct his posture," she listed primly, "he'd jump at the chance to mingle with heads of state, he'd be obsequious – ah, you know the type; the ones who – "

"Kiss ass," Winter supplied blithely.

Rouge's nose pinched unhappily, but she nodded all the same.

"Yes," she agreed. "He's a far cry from the sort of person who salivates over position," Rouge said. "We didn't need to draw up a pre-nuptial, or designate property rights and delineate the terms of power inheritance," she listed thoughtfully.

Leia tilted her head thoughtfully, watching her aunt in the mirror. Rouge was right, in a way – though it seemed counterintuitive. The entire socio-political establishment no doubt expected Leia's family to draw up complex documents layering her with legal protection in the event of a separation of divorce, but in the past months, discussions of such had yielded no pressing need to do so.

Han had seemed so completely confused by the idea of a pre-nuptial – _Hang on, you want me to plan to divorce her?!_ – and his attitude had immediately convinced Bail there was no need for one. If Leia had married someone from the aristocracy – even someone from within the Alderaanian aristocracy – there would have been endless legal provisions concerning power balance and her potential crown, her inheritance, the titles and rights of any children, custody planning, et cetera – et cetera –

But Han – didn't care about her wealth, he hadn't for years, and she had no lurking worries that it might not work out. She had confidence in him – in what they had – and the vague proposals for legal protections had evaporated when Bail, backed by Rieekan, had realized they simply weren't necessary.

"He didn't even seem to mind if you keep your last name," Rouge mused, though Leia had not yet specified if she would be keeping it or changing it. "I suppose he only cares that he has you. Very endearing."

Leia caught Winter's eye, and Winter laughed, tilting her head back.

"She _supposes_ ," she quoted wryly. "Very _endearing_ ," she drawled, mimicking Rouge. She looked back at Leia and put a hand to her chest, feigning a swoon. "Leia, how endearing that your husband will love you."

Leia grinned, her cheeks flushing slightly.

Rouge, for her part, merely cleared her throat, and looked at both of them through her lashes.

"Make no mistake, I am very glad you will be loved, Leia," she said honestly.

Winter's cheeky smile faded into a more genuine one, and she tilted her head fondly at their old aunt. Rouge smiled, and rested her hands on Leia's shoulders, stepping aside a little to let the maid finish off the hairstyle.

Yvsa and Emra, both at work shining ultraviolet lights on Leia's nails to dry and set the lacquer, finished quickly. Leia gave them both a grateful nod as they stood, and Rouge dismissed all three – as well as the lingering seamstresses in the back – with a gentle wave of her hand.

"You have small gifts for Yvsa and Emra, Leia?" Rouge asked.

Leia inclined her head.

"I'm having Arallutes from the bouquet crystalized and preserved for each of the women who've served," she said – another of the many traditions Rouge so painstakingly ensured was followed today; the bride bestowed mementos on her attendants.

Rouge nodded her approval and brushed her hands over Leia's hair gently, reflectively. Winter shifted, crossing one ankle over the other. She reached to her side and picked up a tube of black mascara, leaning forward to brush just a bit more on Leia's thick and neatly curled lashes.

"There," she murmured. "You look stunning, Leia," Winter said earnestly, leaning back some. "Han's going to – he'll be speechless."

Leia flushed a little, her shoulders falling a bit. She lifted her nails to look at them, admiring them fondly, and she looked down at her toes, waving them – there was only the dress left, and then a walk to the venue, down the aisle –

"This is it, Rouge, you've got to tell her what she needs to know about the wedding night," Winter announced dramatically, putting on an air of solemnity.

Rouge gave her a look.

"I think Leia knows good and well what she is in for," she answered diplomatically.

Winter laughed brightly.

"You make it sound like such a chore," she teased.

"It's a woman's lot in life," Rouge retorted.

Winter almost choked on her tongue.

"Rouge – whoever let your hair down must have been really lame in the sack – "

"As I said," Rouge interrupted, speaking directly over Winter. "I believe Leia is perfectly well informed – "

"Not at all," Leia broke in, feigning wide-eyed innocence. "What's he going to _do_ to me, Aunt Rouge?"

"For heaven's _sake_ ," Rouge sniffed at her darkly.

Leia smiled indulgently at her aunt, turning slightly in the chair. Rouge shook her head a moment, and then a serious look crossed her face. She squeezed Leia's shoulder, and then crouched down near her stool, her shoulder level with Leia's knees.

"Leia, it's your mother who would have this conversation with you," she began.

Leia laughed good-naturedly, shaking her head.

"Rouge," she murmured, lifting her eyes in a small bit of exasperation, "I was being facetious; I know damn well – "

"Yes, I know – I'm sure Breha talked with you about this ages before I would have thought to," Rouge said, a bit edgily. "I'm not talking about that. Not really – what I mean is," she hesitated. "It's not just _that_ conversation, if you needed it – it's this whole part of the day, that would have belonged to your mother," she said quietly, "and I know I'm not Breha," she said heavily, "I know you're missing out – on a very significant tradition."

Rouge put her hand on Leia's and smiled sadly, as if she was sorry to remind her. Leia looked down at her aunt's hand for a moment, and then put one of hers over it gently, listening – because Rouge was right, and Leia had been trying not to think of it. The bride was entitled to an heirloom, to be worn at her wedding, from both her mother and her father on the day of the ceremony. It was usually something chosen with specific care and with a depth of meaning to it, and Breha was not here to offer anything – or to braid Leia's hair, or hand her over to her father.

Leia compressed her lips.

"Rouge, you've outdone yourself with this ceremony," she said, soft and honest. "Please don't feel as if you've fallen short."

Rouge smiled at her.

"I very much hope I haven't," she said gently, and after a pause, continued: "I considered asking if you would mind if I gave you something in her place," she said, "and I think you'd appreciate the sentiment, but the more I thought about it, the more _I_ was uncomfortable with it," she explained.

"Rouge – " Leia began.

Rouge squeezed her hand, bidding her to listen.

"That's a very time honored tradition, and if I stepped in to it, I'd not only feel like I was robbing Breha of something – even though she's not here – but I'd be stepping in with something that was recently purchased and hardly the type of heirloom we usually value in these ceremonies," she explained.

Rouge ran her palm over Leia's hand lightly, swallowing hard.

"It seems this is my terrible way of telling you I don't have anything for you, but I was very – concerned about how you'd feel if I overstepped," she murmured. "I'm not your mother, Leia – and when it comes to Han…I suppose I haven't even been a very pleasant aunt."

She took a deep breath, and smiled shakily.

"I'm sure you are well aware of how much Breha loved you, but I want to make _sure_ you know. There was nothing she wouldn't have done for you," Rouge said softly. She stood and placed her hand on Leia's cheek, catching her eye sincerely. "You meant the world to her. And – well, I know she would have liked him."

Leia flicked her eyes to the side slightly, touched. She took a moment, and then looked back at Rouge, and her aunt smiled again, more confidently.

"I love you so much," Rouge said, "and you look so beautiful today."

She tapped Leia's chin lightly, leaned forward and kissed her forehead, and then straightened, folding her arms wryly.

"If you don't mind, I have a few final words to share with General Solo before we reach the top of the hour," she said, stepping back.

Leia turned, shaking herself a little from the reverie Rouge had drawn her into – her brow creased worriedly.

"Words?" she quoted. "Aunt Rouge – " she began – and Rouge held up her hand with a small upturn of her lips, shaking her head.

"He's expecting me," she said mildly, and looked between the younger women with an arched brow, "and I'll leave you girls alone while Winter helps you into that dress."

Rouge spared the barest moment for another quick kiss to the top of Leia's head, and she briefly checked to make sure her hair was still perfect – and then she left them alone, and that left Leia turning wide, wary eyes on Winter –

" _Words_?" she repeated, more insistently. "What's she going to say to Han?" she asked, exasperated.

Winter shrugged, rolled her eyes briefly as if to imply that was just Rouge being Rouge – but Leia got the distinct impression her friend knew what Rouge's business with Han was, and she gave her a narrow, searching look. Winter smiled at her blithely, still perched lazily on the edge of the vanity.

Leia slouched back on her small stool and looked up at Winter with arched brows, her bottom lip between her teeth.

"You know who I wish was here?" Winter murmured, thoughtful and good-natured. "Neena."

" _Neena_ ," breathed Leia – she'd been the daughter of Leia's governess; she'd grown up in the royal nursery with Leia and Winter.

"Vahla," Winter murmured, inclining her head respectfully, remembering one of their friends from Breha's side of the family. "Jynna and Draya," Winter added, "hell – even Lynce, and the Panteer boys."

Leia smiled fondly, leaning forward. She rested her elbows on the vanity, and her weight on her elbows, looking at her reflection.

"And Mama," she said, echoing Rouge's sentiment.

She closed her eyes, and shook her head a little.

"I doubt I'd fit in with that crowd any longer," Leia murmured, thinking of her old friends on Alderaan – all aristocratic, save Neena; all palace and mansion born and bred, soft exteriors and untested souls – it was a miracle she still got on so well with Winter, but then again, Winter had never been delicate, and Winter had been through the wringer on a stranded ship.

Winter grinned, her eyes sparkling.

"You're getting _married_ ," she gushed, nudging Leia's knee with hers. "I'm so happy for you, Leia," she said, lifting her shoulders smugly. "The romance of it suits you. I know," she said wryly, "you were always a romantic at heart."

"Not a soul who heard you say that would believe it," Leia said dryly.

"You hid it well," retorted Winter simply, tilting her head, "but I always thought that was why you were so guarded with your heart, and intimacy," she reflected. "It meant so much to you. You were born for one great affair, not a hundred little flings."

Leia smiled. She dipped her head, staring down at the vanity, her lips pressed together lightly. A sense of giddiness rose in her chest, and she closed her eyes, feeling a little daunted, too – Winter's words had the strange effect of making her nervous, and anxious, on top of her tranquil excitement.

This permanence, this promise, was at her fingertips, and it seemed like there was nothing that could threaten her, or her relationship –

She looked up, and at herself again, and she wondered how long it had been since she really looked at herself in a mirror, really considered all the things she'd been through, and who she was.

She parted her lips, her heart in her throat.

This was happening; _it was going to happen._ Her father was going to walk her down the aisle, and she'd marry Han, and –

"Leia?" Winter was asking, her voice faraway, and curious. "Your dress – you should put it on."

She looked past Leia's shoulder to a chronometer – the time for Leia to line up with Bail was approaching, and the delicate buttons down the spine of Leia's wedding gown would take a careful moment to do properly.

Leia nodded. She hesitated for a moment, and then looked up at Winter.

"I think I'd like to see Han before the ceremony," she said softly. "Would you mind - ?"

Winter nodded, shrugging lightly.

"Shall I tell him you'd like a preview of the wedding night prior to the vows?" she quipped.

Leia laughed hoarsely, shaking her head.

"Winter," she sighed, amused. She shook her head again. "No – I," she faltered uncertainly. "I want to see him," she repeated. She smiled wryly. "He may fight you on it."

Winter tilted her head curiously, but did not ask about that. She nodded again, and pushed forward, straightening her gown. She rested her hand lightly on Leia's shoulder, and then swept out of the room to get Han, leaving Leia considering her reflection again.

Left alone in the Queen's quarters, Leia reached up to touch the flower crown braided loosely into her hair. She studied herself for a moment, and then reached around and slid her hand into her robe, reaching around and pressing her fingers into the familiar scars on her lower back.

She felt a prickle of fear there that she knew was – likely irrational, but that she needed assuaged all the same.

* * *

The atmosphere in the room the men were using to get ready for the wedding ceremony was distinctly different than the one in the Queen's antechamber – and that was mainly due to the fact that the men's version of getting ready consisted of putting on clothes and shaving, all done individually, without attendants.

Han would have been subjected to more sprucing up had he been a member of the aristocracy who was accustomed to it, but as it were, the look on his face when Rouge had begun to suggest he get a manicure put pain to _any_ suggestion that he would be putting up with pampering.

Instead of a small collection of maids and make-up and manicures, Han was sequestered in a sort of pre-wedding limbo, a waiting game – clean-shaven and neatly dressed in his best bloodstripes and vest, an outfit choice that was still on the top of Rouge's list of things that have gone wrong with this wedding.

Han was fairly positive that there were only two things on that list, and he was number two – but he also sensed that Rouge's resistance to him had faded into a sort of habit rather than genuinely discomfort lately. It was as if she accepted him, and his place and Leia's life, but she still enjoyed being offended by him.

Shifting in his seat, Han pulled one leg up and crossed it over his knee, resting a glass half-full of whiskey on his ankle. He still couldn't quite believe his luck in getting away with wearing a nicer version of his usual clothing – and he owed it to Leia. He wasn't expected to wear robes similar to Bail's since he wasn't Alderaanian, so he'd been told his options were a tuxedo or his military dress uniform. Rouge had argued that a military uniform at an Alderaanian wedding was out of place, but to her chagrin, Leia had taken one look at him in a tuxedo and vetoed it outright.

' _I hate it. Take that off. You look ridiculous. Wear your bloodstripes.'_

There were men who might take offense to being aesthetically insulted – but Han had shot a smug look at Bail and Rouge and strolled out of the room to get out of the stuffy tailored tux as quickly as possible.

"I think I got it, Chewie," Luke said, frowning in concentration – the Wookiee was the only male who seemed overly concerned about his appearance, though Bail kept shooting a vaguely judgmental scowl at Han's.

Luke peered around to try and catch Chewbacca's eye, and Chewie whirled around, trying to see the spot on his back he'd asked Luke to untangle. He reached behind him and pawed at it, and Han shook his head.

"You'd think he's he one gettin' hitched," he snorted, rolling his eyes at the vanity Chewie had where his pelt was concerned.

Chewie raised his head balefully and shot a glare at Han.

 _[Bonding ceremonies are important]_ he growled pointedly, _[I would like to look presentable – which is more than I can say for you]_ he then grumbled something that sounded offensively like 'slack-jawed ingrate.'

Han glared at him and, if he was in anyway unclear about Chewie's mumbled words, Bail's short laughter confirmed that it was an insult.

Han reached up with his free hand and ran his knuckles over his jaw and throat, reminding them without a word that he'd gotten a hell of a shave. He never went more than a few days without shaving, anyway, but for this he'd even had his hair properly trimmed.

Luke set aside the brush he was using and folded his arms smugly, setting his shoulders back.

" _I_ look nicer than you," he goaded, nodding down at his attire – he'd kept with tradition and put on a suit; for once in his life, he managed to look spotlessly put together, rather than dusty and a smidge windblown.

Han shrugged. He ran his hand along the edge of his vest and held it up confidently.

"Got the girl," he said pointedly, and released his vest.

Luke grinned, and Bail rolled his eyes. He leaned forward and started to reach for a carved wooden case of cigars on the table – a gift Chewie had given him, brought from Kashyyyk as part of a whole host of offerings Malla and Lumpy had with them – only to have Han hold up his glass, dart his foot out, and kick his hand away seriously.

Bail shook out his hand sharply, giving Han a narrow look.

"No," Han said, pointing at him sharply around his glass, " _no_ smoking."

 _[When did you become such a puritan?]_ Chewie asked mildly, tilting his head.

Bail glowered.

"I wish Leia had never told you I'm not supposed to have cigars," he grumbled. "You're about to join a brotherhood, Han," Bail went on loftily, "an exclusive circle of _not_ telling wives things that won't hurt them."

Han snorted derisively.

"I don't give a damn if you tar up your lungs," he retorted. He pointed to his chest. "I'm lookin' out for myself here, Viceroy," he drawled. "Leia hates the smell, and you're kiddin' yourself if you think I'm going to sit around and let that smoke get all over me."

He paused, grinned, and lifted his glass for a sip –

"It'd interfere with my wedding night."

Bail rolled his eyes with a mild grimace and leaned back, lifting his eyes to check the chronometer – less than an hour or so, now, and things would begin – wedding, lengthy reception, and then Han and Leia would sneak off for two weeks of vacation, and Bail Organa would find himself the father of a perfectly grown and completely independent daughter.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, interlacing his fingers – the women, at least, had their flurry of distractions leading up to the ceremony; he had nothing to do but wait.

He found himself staring intently at Han – not with judgment, or distaste, or anything negative, but just _intently_. Simultaneously, it felt as if he'd met Han yesterday, and as if he'd known him a lifetime. That sort of feeling in itself ultimately described how Bail felt in general – some mornings, everything was as fresh and sensitive as if he'd just been pulled out of the void, and some mornings, he tiredly felt like he'd never known anything else.

He watched Han banter in an increasingly abusive, crass manner with Luke and Chewie, and he tried to imagine how he'd have reacted if someone had come to his office years ago, perhaps when Leia was ten or eleven, and told him that this was the man Leia would end up with.

He'd have laughed, perhaps, blown it off, even thought it an off-colour joke – but more often than not, these days, he thought it was more than he could have asked for. There were weeks on end, months, when his line of thinking had been accepting, but always tinged with a sense of wariness, a precarious hesitance to really come down unequivocally on Han's side even after he'd given his blessing and seen with his own eyes that he was a good man. There was still that lack of complete surety, the need to adjust Han as a person in addition to Han in relation to Leia.

For quite a while, he'd thought along the lines of – _General Solo will love my daughter appropriately, and he understands her as she is now_ ; _he'll do_. Now, increasingly, his thinking was more firmly resolved – _Han loves my daughter more than he cares about himself, and he's worthy of her._

In fact – strange as it was to him when he first realized it, Bail had come to think that Han Solo was the type of man he would have wanted for his daughter under _any_ circumstances, even if she'd gone through life unharmed. He was reliable and loyal, protective in a way that never demeaned Leia or interfered with her life – and what he lacked in finesse, he made up for in cool street smarts that were vital for galactic survival.

Considering the concerns he'd had in the very beginning, and the tremulous adjustment period – he'd felt guarded as this day approached, because he questioned how he'd feel when he was staring down the barrel of such a definitive moment – but despite all of the initial conflict, he felt at _ease_.

It was a relief, to study Han like this, in these moments before the ceremony, and know he was at peace with it, he had no qualms – he was calm, and he could merely be happy for Leia, and it didn't matter for a second that Han was in leather boots – polished, though, where they were usually scuffed – and a vest and bloodstripes; it didn't matter that he was a Corellian, and a commoner, a disgraced Imperial cadet, a smuggler – _it didn't matter._

There was no longer any part of the Viceroy that questioned this; he knew, wholeheartedly, that it was a good thing.

Despite that, he still felt what he presumed was some traditional, customary anxiety about his daughter's wedding – giving her away, letting go, a lingering, vague fear – natural to a parent – that he was 'losing' her. Logic, of course, held that no such thing was happening – but emotion was strong, and in the midst of it all, he bore it alone; somehow, Leia's wedding, a joyous occasion, elicited in him a deeper-than-usual grief over Breha.

He missed his wife – he always missed his wife, but he particularly ached that she was not here to share in the peculiar sort of happy-sadness that came with seeing Leia married, and there was even more sorrow in knowing how much Breha would have wanted to be here for this.

"Hell, if you're gonna pout, Viceroy, you can step outside for a cigar."

Han's lazy drawl broke into his reverie, and Bail blinked hard, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"Keep running your mouth, Solo, and I will see to it that you wear a tie," he retorted loftily.

Han grinned.

"Hey, that almost sounded like a threat," he said seriously. "Keep workin' at it, _Dad_. You might actually scare someone some day."

Bail responded with a withering sort of glower, and Chewbacca rumbled something under his breath, rolling his eyes. Luke brushed his hand over his shoulder – his neat, impeccably dressed shoulder – and then took a few steps forward, smoothing his hair a little.

"Chewie and I are going to take our places – I promised Rouge I'd see to it that proper seating assignments are adhered to," he added – and his expression said, with no trace of mockery, that on Rouge's behalf he was taking the assignment quite seriously.

"Oh, well, in that case," Han said, feigning a wildly concerned look. "You'd better go. If one person is out of place, Intergalactic Commerce might collapse."

Chewbacca gave Han a baleful look, and shook his shaggy head, gesturing at Luke. Luke sighed good-naturedly.

"You've got to ease up on Rouge, Han," Luke advised.

Han pointed to his chest innocently as if to ask _–who, me?_

 _[Yes, you]._ Chewbacca snarled.

Han continued with the same concerned look.

"Hey, I'm serious, Kid, I got it – Dodonna sits next to that Lord Guy of Some Place and the Constitution might erupt in flames," he went on.

Bail sat back, shaking his head. He rubbed his forehead – torn between making a comment on behalf of his sister, and having a small laugh at her – Rouge's seating chart fervor, in Han's defense, bordered on maniacal.

"I don't even want to think about what would happen if Mon Mothma was in the same row with Garm Bel Iblis – "

"That's an actual concern," Bail snorted dryly, breaking into Han's agonizingly sarcastic monologue, and Han laughed loudly, giving Luke a smug look.

"Yeah, yeah, go," he said, slouching back. "Last thing I need is Rouge getting her panties in a twist."

Luke started to grin – and then swallowed it, his eyes going a little respectfully wide. Han had a split second to guess who must have walked in and overheard, and found he was right as he turned around and heard –

"I will thank you not to discuss my undergarments, General Solo."

Rouge's expression was as crisp and dainty as her tone, and Han, caught off guard for a moment, and distracted by Luke hastily muffling a laugh in a faux cough, gave her a taken aback look for a moment before resuming his devil-may-care, smug attitude.

Bail noticed, however, that Han straightened out of his slouch, and that amused him – Rouge _did_ have a way of inspiring people to shape up.

Luke and Chewbacca came forward, both of them acknowledging Rouge politely.

"Luke, you look very sharp," Rouge said critically, patting his shoulder and brushing her hand through his hair a little. She pointed at him with a wry look. "You don't have that lightsaber on you, do you?" she asked.

He shook his head obediently – it was secured in a safe, to be picked up prior to the reception. Luke had no qualms in leaving his weapon behind so that the wedding would align better with Alderaanian tradition; security was so impeccable that he had no worries about needing it – and the Force implied to him that there would be no trouble today.

Rouge brushed Luke's hair again, smiled, and waved him on – she gave the same treatment to Chewbacca, who had shed his bowcaster and ammunition for the day and was instead wearing a ceremonial sash that Malla had brought him.

Han, however –

"I see you have your blaster strapped on, Han," Rouge said, folding her arms.

Luke laughed a little as he and Chewbacca headed out of the room, and Han leaned back, folding his arms in mild mimicry of Rouge. Bail sighed.

"Rouge, you aren't going to start this again?" Bail asked neutrally. "It's to late to win that battle."

"It is never too late to win a battle, Bail," Rouge answered matter-of-factly. "I will reiterate to you again, General Solo, that this is an Alderaanian wedding, and the only individuals who would wear anything resembling a weapon would be the Palace Guard in attendance – ceremonial only."

Han nodded.

"I'm Corellian," he said – which was his customary response to this speech, and never failed to annoy Rouge to no end.

"Will you stop reminding me?" she asked, though it was somewhat good-natured – and Han just flashed a small smirk, shaking his head. She sighed. "I want you to remove the blaster, Han," she pushed. "I acquiesced to your attire, I relented when you refused the manicure – it is your turn."

Han shifted a little edgily, and Bail gave Rouge a look – Han was damn near attached to that blaster via skin grafts or something; it was always on him, and it was always _visibly_ on him. He'd said before – when Bail questioned its presence at a museum opening Leia had dragged him to – that the gun had, more than once, been the only thing between Leia and certain death, so he preferred to keep it on him.

Silent for a moment, Bail reflected on that, and then turned to his sister.

"Rouge, its his security blanket," he said bluntly. "He's used to people trying to kill him, and Leia. Let it be."

Rouge narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

"I'm rather certain Leia is in no danger at this wedding, and if by some chance a wayward assassin does appear, I am convinced Han is more than capable of defending her with his bare hands."

Bail arched an eyebrow – that was probably true, but it was rare for Rouge to express much faith in Han in any capacity.

"After all, if she's going to marry a _vagrant_ ," Rouge said, pausing with what might be called a small grin, "shouldn't it be one who can – oh, what do you call it; knock skulls and take names?"

Bail arched both eyebrows.

"Rouge, what have you been watching?" he muttered – perhaps she was getting too carried away with the afternoon soaps she entertained herself with –

Han seemed to find the statement not only complimentary, but also highly amusing. In a quick but unexpected motion he leaned forward and unbuckled his holster, effortlessly removing it and folding it up, blaster locked on safety. Without a word, he leaned forward and placed it in Rouge's hands.

She hardly had a moment to be startled – she almost dropped the handful – before he was leaning down, bunching up the cuff of his pants, and extracting a vibroblade from his boot. That, too, he placed in Rouge's hands, atop his gun. He looked at the collection for a moment, and then sat back, and pulled a regular, old-fashioned switchblade from a pocket inside his vest.

He made a show of running his hands over his chest and then his lower back and folded his arms, nodding and smiling a little smugly at Rouge.

She held the armful of weapons away from her gingerly, having never so much as touched a blaster in her entire life.

"Heavens," she remarked dryly. "Do you fear assassination at every turn?"

"Yeah," Han answered, arching a brow pointedly.

Rouge rolled her eyes narrowly, and turned towards Bail. She delicately transferred the weapons – getting rid of them quickly, but handling them carefully.

"Tend to those," she ordered matter-of-factly, and Bail gave her a look – as if _he_ was _any_ more experienced with violent arms – as she turned back to Han and gave him a cursory look over.

He held up his hands innocently.

"I swear, that's all of 'em," he promised. "It's Leia you ought to search, though. I never know where that woman has a blaster on her."

"You're very amusing," Rouge retorted.

Han started to respond, and then closed his mouth and lowered his hands – he'd let Rouge think he was merely joking, if that's what she wanted, but personally, he wouldn't put it past Leia to have a weapon strapped to her even in Ambassadorial attire _or_ a wedding gown.

Rouge folded her arms, looking Han up and down critically one last time. She nodded to herself, unfolded her arms, and put her palms up, beckoning a little.

"I want to hear one last rehearsal," she said.

Han narrowed his eyes at her, darting a shifty look over at Bail – he did not like performing in front of the Viceroy; the Viceroy took entirely too much pleasure in mocking his –

"I need to hear if your pronunciation is still horrendous," Rouge said matter-of-factly.

-pronunciation.

Han glowered at her.

Bail smirked a little, but looked away, standing and turning aside to place Han's weaponry on a table. He ensured his back was half-turned, and Rouge gestured again, waiting patiently. Han eyed her a little moodily for a moment, and then sat forward, elbows on his knees, and gave his vows.

Rouge paused, head tilted, and nodded to herself, snapping a finger.

"It's the last few words you choke on," she said simply. "You'll be fine at the altar – I'm nearly positive your problem with them around myself and Bail is that you fear sounding stupid if you mess it up, so you don't take it seriously."

She seemed to speak almost to herself, and nodded emphatically again, while Han raised an eyebrow at her. She reached up to pat her hair, and then rested her hands on her shoulders, then on her hips, staring at him intently.

"This wedding is very important to our people," she said softly. "The tradition of it, and of course, Leia herself. I know such pageantry is not - your particular style," here, Rouge paused. She gathered herself a moment. "I'm thankful you agreed to let us – and her – have this."

Han shrugged a little, slightly uncomfortable – he was used to teasing Rouge, giving her some mild mockery, and receiving an upturned nose and a cool, aristocratic glare - however, if there was a day for her to start acting like she was at peace with his place in Leia's life, today was _it_.

Rouge's arms fell to her sides, and she made a hesitant move forward.

"Leia's very happy," she said contently.

She made another hesitant move, and the next thing Han knew, she'd placed her hand on his shoulder, leaned down, and pressed a chaste, sincere kiss to his temple, just over his brow – purely platonic, swift, almost motherly – and when she straightened up and removed her hand, she seemed quite startled with herself, though she masked it quickly with a sharp nod to reinforce her action.

Han said nothing, feeling somewhat like if he moved too suddenly or said anything, he'd spook her and she'd remember that she didn't approve of him. She took a few steps back, and he glanced towards Bail to see if he'd seen – the Viceroy shrugged a little, giving his sister a raised eyebrow, and turning back to examining Han's switchblade.

Rouge cleared her throat.

"Bail, I believe it's almost time for you to fetch Leia," she said simply.

She took a deep breath, like she was steadying herself – and she was; this was her niece, her niece's wedding, and she wanted it to be the best day of Leia's life, and she was realizing in this very moment – this moment being the culmination of a whole day's worth of realizations – that Leia being happy was _all_ that mattered, and she needn't waste so much time caring that the intended groom was nothing like the man she'd imagined.

Rouge turned slightly on her heel to bow out – her place now was ensuring all of the final things were impeccably placed; then Carlist Rieekan would ensure Han was in his place, and Winter would ensure Bail and Leia were in theirs –

"Rouge," Han said gruffly, catching her as she went. He sat forward on the edge of his seat. "Hey, you didn't say anything to Leia, did you?" he asked, rubbing his jaw anxiously. "About – the vows," he muttered – he was uncomfortable, because his whole idea might have been silly, and might make him look ridiculous, and he already felt ridiculous parading around in front of dignitaries and politicians and all kinds of strangers – "My vows," he clarified lamely.

Rouge smiled a little.

"Of course not," she retorted, disabusing him of that notion. "Organa women specialize in keeping secrets."

She inclined her head politely, and left to take her place – leaving Han looking after her with a slightly titled head.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked aloud.

"You don't want to know," Bail answered mildly, throwing a mildly amused, sort of dark look after his sister – and Han grinned; he kept insisting to Leia – he _swore_ to Leia – that conservative old Aunt Rouge had to be harboring a wild past.

Bail turned to Han, palm up, his expression quizzical.

"What is this?" he asked.

"It's a knife," Han answered smartly.

"Thank you, General Solo," Bail retorted, rolling his eyes. "I have eyes."

"Then why'd you ask?"

Bail scowled, and then curled his fingers around the weapon, and held it up.

"I mean – it seems new, and furthermore, it's – well, it's a relic of a weapon, is it not?" he asked. "A mechanical switchblade?"

Han stepped forward and took it, smoothing his finger over the edge.

"Hey, some things are like the wheel, Viceroy," he said seriously, "new models are always comin', but the original blueprint is still worth a lot."

Bail raised his eyes, and nodded at it.

"I don't think you understand why I'm so interested in it," he remarked mildly.

Han arched his brows – because he hadn't really noticed Bail was inordinately interested at all, aside from the fact that Bail seemed perpetually fascinated – and alternately distressed – by weapons, and Han's knowledge of them.

"I reckon I don't," Han answered, laying it flat in his palm. He shrugged. "Leia gave it to me," he revealed. He turned it over, and ran his thumb over the carved black hilt – she'd given it to him about a month ago.

"I thought as much," Bail said.

Han shot him a suspicious look, digging his nail into the etching on the knife – it was a rune, something from the ancient Alderaanian alphabet, Leia had told him that it was difficult to translate to modern Basic, or even modern Alderaanian, but it meant something akin to –

"The rune translates to 'commitment'," Bail said.

"I know," Han said slowly, narrowing his eyes, and tilted his head, a little wary. He felt as if he was missing something, and Bail smirked at him.

He made a show of pulling back the sleeves of his robes, and exposing a pair of cufflinks – the very same pair he'd been wearing when he was rescued. They were rusty and a little dented, and had been through the wringer, but he'd held on to them, and always wore them, and Han noticed now, as he pointed to them firmly, that they had the same exact symbol on them.

Han's brow furrowed, and he looked down at the knife.

"She didn't explain it to you?" Bail asked.

Han shrugged a little, looking back up.

"No, she," he said, curling his palm up a little, "she wasn't in a good place that day," he said bluntly. "If it means commitment, that's pretty straightforward, isn't it?" Han ventured, arching a brow. "It's a wedding gift?" he guessed. "She gave it to me last month – "

Bail smiled.

"In the Old Religion, the bride had until exactly one month, to the day, before the wedding to change her mind – after that, she was duty-bound to go through with it – both parties were. So, on that day, she'd present the groom with some sort of token with the commitment rune on it," Bail explained – Han noticed he plucked at the cufflinks on his sleeves, running his fingers over them possessively. "The tradition stuck around," he said, nodding at Han's knife. "It's your version – no, it's _her_ version, to you, of the necklace."

Bail tilted his head, studying Han.

"It's actually become rarer, in the last century," he remarked pointedly. "Though divorce was exceedingly rare on Alderaan, this token was once considered so binding that there was some lingering superstition in using it – utter, complete commitment."

Han tightened his grip on it for a moment, and then ran his thumb over the rune – Leia hadn't mentioned anything like that; she'd only told him what the symbol meant, and that she'd had it made because she'd never seen anything as antique-like in his repertoire of weapons.

It struck him that she might have held back because she thought that concept was a lot of weight to put on his shoulders.

Bail straightened both of his cufflinks.

"Leia would have never done this if she'd made a political match," he said bluntly, nodding at the knife. "Leia thought very _highly_ of this tradition, Han," he said, managing to sound mild, and firm, at the same time.

He considered it a moment, and then took it from Han, turning it over, and handing it directly back to him.

"You should keep it on you for the ceremony," he advised, nodding to Han's vest pocket pointedly. "You should _always_ keep it on you," he added, holding up one wrist to show the worn and abused cufflinks.

Han swallowed hard, nodding his head sharply, a little daunted. He knew how much he wanted to be with Leia, but sometimes, even now, it shocked him how much she wanted to be with him, too.

Bail was straightening his robes, smoothing his cravat, clearing his throat idly – two men, left alone together, waiting; Han, the most important man in the ceremony – Bail, arguably the second most important man in the ceremony – both of them so significantly important in Leia's life.

The Viceroy folded his arms, and seemed about to speak. He hesitated instead, and then reached out with a determined look to straighten Han's collar. Han arched his brow, tilting his head a bit – before he could get in a snarky comment, though – a voice in the doorway beat him to it.

"Why, isn't this lovely?" Winter trilled – he knew it was Winter without looking, though he did look over, narrowing his eyes. She smirked wryly. "It's almost as if you two were getting married."

Han scowled at her, and Bail removed his hands, folding them again tightly. He looked abashed, and then consternated, to have been interrupted, and that made Han wonder if he'd actually had something important to say a moment ago –

Winter peered at them both, leaning casually against the doorframe. She considered the scene for a moment more, and then cleared her throat matter-of-factly, so that she had both of their attentions.

"Han," Winter said pleasantly, giving no indication that she intended to play a joke, "Leia would like you to join her for a quickie before the ceremony."

She said it so blithely and formally that neither of them reacted for a moment. Then Han gave Winter an alarmed glare and stepped out of Bail's reach with a wary look, and Bail opened his mouth in shock.

"She advised me to remind you that you promised her."

Bail turned a glare of disbelief on his very soon to be son-in-law. Han held up his hands, shaking his head.

"I didn't–!" he sputtered. "I – you tell her – no!" He insisted, shooting another wary look at Bail.

Winter feigned innocent confusion for a moment, and then grinned wickedly. She stepped into the door and shook her head, beckoning.

"I'm lying through my teeth," she laughed wryly. "She does want to see you, Han," she added.

His blood still rushing a little too fast, Han folded his arms. He hadn't expected to see Leia before the wedding today – it wasn't in the plan Rouge laid out – and even though he hadn't mentioned it to her, because he thought he didn't believe in traditions, he felt a chill of apprehension creep up his spine at the very idea.

"I can't see her 'till later," he said instinctively, blurting it out without realizing he was going to.

He blinked a little at himself, surprised, unsure if he'd have to explain -

Winter laughed.

"Corellians and their superstitions – you live with her; you saw her this morning."

"No, I stayed on the _Falcon,"_ Han said stubbornly – he should have known Winter would be aware of the tradition; like Leia, she was well-versed in all social customs of major systems.

Winter and Bail shared a look, and Bail frowned.

"Is Leia alright?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes, she just wants to see Han," Winter answered vaguely. "She isn't in her dress yet, if that alleviates your superstition," she added to Han, inclining her head respectfully.

"It's a tradition," Han corrected narrowly. "Not a superstition."

Bail gave Winter a look – Han was right; his planet's customs were not eerie just because they weren't similar to Alderaan's. After all the talk of tradition Han had been subjected to recently, the single one he decided to bring up and stick to should be honored, not tossed aside.

Winter accepted Bail's silent reprimand with a low bow of her head, and then compressed her lips thoughtfully. She shifted her weight, her white dress fluttering around her ankles, and then she stood up, tilting her white-blonde head.

"I can blindfold you," she offered, her eyes glittering with the onset of the idea.

Han looked between them, Bail and Winter, considering – after all, the wedding day was not the best time to slack off on being there for Leia when she was asking for him. He thought about it a split second later, and then nodded shortly in agreement.

Winter took a step back, then forward, her lips puckering curiously.

"Pasha, is there a tie available...?" she began, and Bail shook his head, frowning.

"Never you mind," Winter said mildly. "I'll find some sort of makeshift version in the maid's sewing room."

She stepped back, disappeared, and Bail rubbed a hand tensely over his jaw, shifting his weight back to his heels and standing up to his full height.

"The hour approaches," he said, under his breath, almost to himself.

He closed his eyes lightly, and took a deep breath.

"Don't jilt me now, Viceroy," Han joked dramatically.

Bail smiled a small, wry smile, but stayed serious, looking at Han intently. He cleared his throat. His expression was stiff, though not in a pained or distraught sort of way – more _nostalgic_ , bittersweet.

He went through so many things in his head, so many things to say – Leia was, truly, the one thing in his life Bail was proudest of; she was the purest legacy he could have wanted for Alderaan, and she was a legacy all her own, as well. Giving her away – archaic term, he supposed, considering Leia was no object to be presented, nor something he charitably disposed of – seeing her married, then – was a strange feeling, an overwhelming emotion.

He felt so much hope for her, for her future, and so much earnest desire for her happiness, and yet he felt a sort of hollow tug in his chest – she'd have her own family soon, whether it was solely herself and Han, or if they ever added to it, and just as Bail and once made Breha his top priority all those years ago, when he married her, Leia's familial priority would change. That was natural – that was _normal_ – and though it was difficult – he still wished her – them - so well –

"Han," Bail began gruffly, his jaw tight, as he tried to find words to express all of that. He failed in his endeavor; he cleared his throat, and what he said was: "Take care of her."

Han's machismo had faded some in Bail's studious silence, and he stood with his hands at his belt, taken aback – struck by the solemnity in Bail's eyes. Instinctively, his lips turned up in a wry smirk, and he started to – throw out an old, tired retort –

"Leia doesn't need me to take care of her."

Bail's expression didn't change.

"I know," he said tightly. "I know. Just – take care of her," he repeated, a little more pointed.

Han's smirk rearranged itself into a more determined line, and he straightened a little, without thinking about it – nodding his head, reading into, and adopting, some of Bail's solemnity – he own jaw felt a little tight when he answered, simply –

"Yeah," he agreed, voice gruffly "Yeah, I will."

Bail extended his hand, and clapped it on Han's shoulder, squeezing tightly. He held out his other, poised for a firm, good old-fashioned handshake, man-to-man, and Han returned the gesture, clasping his harm firmly.

Winter returned to the room, a long swatch of something stretched out between her hands, and shot a pointed look at Bail as if to order him to scatter – _places, Pasha, places!_

Bail cleared his throat loudly, so there was no choice of his vulnerable emotion when he spoke.

"General Solo," he said clearly, giving Han's hand another tough shake. "Be true."

Han nodded, releasing Bail's hand and raising his own in a small salute as the Viceroy took a step back, straightened his robes again, and allowed Winter to approach. She smiled warmly, showed Han what she'd found – it appeared to be a length of silk – and stepped behind him to tie it around his eyes.

"Pasha," she said in her musical voice, knotting the makeshift blindfold securely, "when they're finished, I'll escort Han down to take his place with Carlist, and I'll let you know to fetch Leia," she advised.

That much was average at many human cultural weddings – groom at the altar, waiting; bride escorted in by her father or closest male relative as the focus of the room.

Bail nodded to show his understanding, and watched as Winter turned Han almost as if she were going to bind his hands in cuffs, and guided him out of the room – she'd need to get him up a staircase to the Queen's quarters where Leia was getting ready, and Bail supposed she was just having fun with him, else she'd have blindfolded him right outside the door instead.

Left alone to wait, Bail sat down quietly and leaned back, brushing his knuckles over his jaw lightly, thinking on his time here since his rescue – reflecting back over the years of his personal life, and he hoped, beyond hope, that Leia would have, from this point onwards, at least, all of the success he'd found with Breha, and none of the losses.

* * *

Alone in the dressing room, Leia thought of her mother. She paced the room in a leisurely fashion, running the pads of her fingers over everything, reflecting on all of the times she'd been here – remembering hiding behind a bureau while her mother pretended to look for her; remembering a time when she was very, very young, Breha had been readying herself for a social event in here, and she'd pulled Leia into her lap, so Leia could lean her tiny elbows on the vanity and watch the process.

She sighed wistfully as she came to a stop at her gown, hanging neatly where the seamstress had left it – delicate, perfectly stitched, beautiful. It was exactly what she'd envisioned – sketches and measurements come to life, a mix of Leia's own taste and the memory she had of one particular dress Breha had once worn.

She savored the sight of it, and she was waiting to put it on because – well, she'd wear it for such a short time, and it was so gorgeous. She was so much more fascinated with her dress, and her shoes, and her nails, than she ever thought she would be – yet this was her wedding, her _wedding_ , she was marrying _Han_ – it felt so vibrantly personal and private suddenly that she was daunted by the ceremony –

A soft knock at the door right next to her, and Leia moved towards it, her hand on it lightly. She drew it open slightly – the Alderaanian residence had antique doors, with handles and key locks, rather than access thumbprint pads –

"I've fetched him," Winter said, arching her brow.

She smiled at Leia as her face appeared, and drew Han forward, guiding him, planting him directly outside the door, and then gesturing dramatically from his head to his toe – _voila; here he is._

Leia smiled wryly, her eyes going from Winter's, to Han – and she bit the inside of her lip at the sight of him.

"Everything is in place," Winter said pleasantly. "I'll come back for him in a few moments," she advised, "and I'll send Pasha up to escort you."

Leia nodded, and Winter bowed her head, respectfully backing up and retreating down the hall, no doubt to wait around the corner for Leia to be done with whatever she needed from Han.

Leia held the door open slightly, leaning against the doorframe. She didn't let him in, and she didn't step out, and she just looked at him for a moment – his boots, his bloodstripes, belt, and vest – he was clean-shaven – and the blindfold –

She leaned her head against the doorframe lightly, and smiled to herself.

"Han," she whispered. "What are you doing?"

He folded his arms stubbornly, his head moving around to follow the sound of her voice.

"I can't see you," he insisted. "It's bad luck."

She smiled, her heart catching in her throat. She reached out and tugged him forward gently, and he came forward in a cautious stumble, feeling against the door and the frame. She pressed her hand to his chest, and he cocked his head.

"What is it, Sweetheart?" he asked gently.

She struggled with her words – it was nothing, and it was everything. She had wanted this so badly for so long, and now she was terrified to share it with everyone. It felt wrong to let everyone gape at them when they took their vows.

"Cold feet?" Han ventured wryly.

Her brow furrowed, though he didn't see it.

"What about my feet?"

He grinned a little warily.

"It's a Corellian saying," he explained. "Means you change your mind on the wedding day. Nerves."

She reached up to touch his face reverently, and he stepped closer, feeling over her shoulders. His palms rubbed over the material of her silk robe with interest, feeling her out to see if she was dressed yet. It was easy to feel bare skin and scarce lingerie underneath. His body blocked her from view, though there was no one walking through the hallways, and he found the collar of the robe and slid his hand under it, palm slipping under the strap of her lingerie and resting there warmly.

Leia shook her head.

"No," she assured him, calm and confident. "Nothing like that. Never."

He nodded, his head still moving slightly every time she spoke, blindly following her words, and she remembered how he'd looked in his blindness after Jabba's Palace – his hands clinging to her tightly, utterly trusting, following her lead.

She leaned forward and hugged him, head against his chest, and one arm around his waist.

It was hard to put into words what she was feeling, and she worried that if she tried, it _would_ sound like she had doubts, or apprehensions, and she certainly had none of those.

She just wanted to see him once, one last time before they did this in front of everyone. Of course, she'd see him for the rest of her life after this – and she'd seen him every day leading up to this, and this occasion was so happy, and so then why –

"You all right, Leia?" he asked, resting his cheek on her head.

He rubbed her shoulders soothingly, trying to interpret her mood. She wasn't tense; she didn't seem distressed; it was entirely possible she just wanted to be held. He pulled one hand up to push his blindfold off, and then stopped, resisting the urge. Instead, he brought his hand back down to her shoulders, because he knew her hair was probably done up perfectly, and he wouldn't want to mess it up.

She listened to his heartbeat for a moment, identified her problem, and confessed it.

"Things are so good, and so stable, and so right," she murmured; quiet, but loud enough for him to hear when he tilted his head a little. "I have this cruel feeling that it's all about to be ripped away from me."

Leia winced at her own admission, thinking it sounded foolish, and fatalistic; Han said nothing, though. He slid his hands around her, pressing them into her lower back, comforting pressure, as if he understood.

She _had_ so many things ripped away from her over the years; she had lost so much, and she had so many of her beliefs challenged, her hopes mutilated – dreams that she'd taken for granted, _tarnished_. He understood where such a cruel feeling came from.

"You deserve this, you know," he said gruffly.

Leia pulled her head back a little, reaching up to touch his neck lightly.

"I _know_ I deserve this," she said softly, confidently.

It was just that – after so much bloodshed, after the war, and all the brutality of torture and drama, dead planets and massacred friends and family, such peace and happiness at her fingertips, and such stability in the new galactic order unfolding around her – that _she_ was a part of, _she_ was helping create – could seem like a mirage.

She swallowed hard.

"I grew up in the public eye and I am so nervous," she whispered. "I want them all to see how much you mean to me but," she paused, and laughed hoarsely. "I want this all to myself."

Han laughed a little, his head tilting back and forth – and he nodded. She let out a slow breath.

"I needed to talk a little," she told him in a small voice. "I needed to see you, just you."

In an unspoken way, she reminded him that this was such an indication of how far she'd come; she had more of an ability to be vocal about vulnerabilities now. Han was the person who she was by far the most open with, but she was better now – since her episode with Luke, months and months ago, about talking before it reached a breaking point, and everything tore into her on one bad night.

Han nodded, and reached up to find her face, his thumbs running along her jaw. His nose bumped her forehead as he blindly mapped his way to her lips, and she laughed quietly, pulling his lips to hers to make it easier on him.

She kissed him privately; in a way she wouldn't kiss him with the galactic aristocracy watching. Her hands moved over his neck and shoulders, tight and loose, tight and loose, fingers finding their way into the hair at the nape of his neck, and then along his jaw and to pressure points behind his ears, and his breathing came a little ragged in seconds.

Her hands fell to his hips, and brushed against his hips, where his holster usually was, and she pulled back, catching her breath.

"Where's your blaster?" she asked softly, her brow furrowed.

He cleared his throat.

"Took it off," he grunted under his breath. "Rouge asked me to. Weapons, and all."

Leia bit her lip, her throat tightening up. He did so much for her – he aligned himself with so much of what Rouge wanted, and what Bail wanted, and what would honor Alderaan –

"Your old man let me keep the knife though," he said huskily. "He told me what it means."

Leia tossed her head a little, and tilted it, looking up through her lashes.

"Ah," she breathed. "Yes – well, in case it's been unclear, I feel a kind of affection towards you."

"Affection, eh?"

"I love you," she said wryly, a soft whisper – before she said it in front of everyone, with vows and ceremony – she feared slipping into her public persona out there, and she knew Han didn't have two selves to him – he didn't have public Han, and private Han, he was just Han – and she didn't want him to think she was being cold at their wedding of all places –

And so, she spoke now, to reassure him.

He pulled her close again, the fabric of his blindfold brushing her forehead and colliding with her eyelashes as he found her forehead, and then managed to press his lips against her ear.

"Leia, you have no idea," he said huskily.

She nodded.

"Yes, I do."

He rested his head on her shoulder for a moment, and then took a deep breath.

"So, let's go do this," he suggested.

She nodded, running her hand over the back of his neck. He placed a kiss to her neck before he released her, growling in a low voice -

"I can't wait to see how you look."

Leia touched the loosened shoulder of her robe as he pulled away, groping out to grasp the side of the door, still standing rather close to her – and Winter, Winter's timing was impeccable; she returned down the hall, a soft, exhilarated smile on her face, taking Han's elbow in her hand.

Winter beamed at her, holding her gaze for a moment, and Leia was so glad to have her there. She watched them retreat, Winter teasing Han about something as they went – and she slipped back into the dressing room, shutting the door quietly and leaning against it.

Winter would return to help her into the gown, Father would wait outside the door to escort her, and then – _wedding bells._

* * *

The hum and murmur of guests seated and waiting in the main altar room of the Alderaanian Embassy's old religion cathedral was hushed and restless, effusive and anticipatory. The excitable buzz of, however, was silenced by the heavy oak door that secluded a small, private chapel just off to the right in the narthex, behind which Leia sat with her father, waiting to hear the soft knock, the opening cords of music.

Resplendent in her gown, she spent her last few moments as an unmarried woman with her father, her heart in her throat, and on her sleeve, and visible in the colour of her cheeks, and the light in her eyes.

She kept her eyes on a stained glass window above the small altar, and her father took her hand, his thumb running over the lace at her wrist.

"You're very happy," he observed.

Leia looked up at him through her eyelashes, and smiled.

"I am," she agreed, turning her hand in his and squeezing it.

Bail nodded.

He leaned back to study her appearance. She looked so, so – _grown_. Leia had always been mature, she had always handled herself well, but there was such quiet, strong confidence in her now. The sharp-tongued ferocity and unbridled political passion he'd known her to have in her teens had transformed from bright and eye-catching red and orange flames into subtle violet and blue, more powerful, and lacking the distraction and inexperience of youth.

She was full of such conviction; she was fortified by things he wished he'd been able to protect her from.

"This gown reminds me of something your mother once wore," Bail remarked, glancing over it again.

Leia smiled wryly.

"Her Equinox festival dress," Leia agreed. "Hers was violet," she reminded him, "and the," Leia shifted, running her fingers through the gauzy, shimmery material that overlay the skirt of the gown, "the fabric under this, on hers, was velvet."

Leia smiled, turning her fingers in the soft material.

"I always loved that dress," she whispered. "I designed this one with my own preferences."

Leia's was constructed nearly entirely of lace. It was a demure sheath – no full, ostentatious skirt; it was more conservative than her gala dress. The neckline dipped only modestly, and her back was fully covered; delicate, lightweight lace sleeves crept all the way to her wrists. Sheer silk cascaded down from a thin white-gold gemstone belt, giving the dress an ethereal, angelic appearance.

True to tradition, Leia had not chosen white – but unlike some Alderaanian brides, she hadn't leapt across the spectrum to wild, eye-catching colours like yellow or vibrant green, either; her dress was a subtle gold, almost pale pink if it caught the right light.

"You look beautiful," Bail complimented sincerely. He tilted his head at her. "You know, Leia," he remarked, continuing carefully: "You look very much like your mother."

Leia tilted her head at him thoughtfully, pursing her lips.

"You said that to me in the greenhouse," she remembered quietly, "right before the press conference – "

"Ah, the press conference," Bail said, arching a brow, and Leia grinned, dipping her head and bringing a hand up to her mouth.

"Oh, I know I should have told you," she lamented.

"Preliminary knowledge might have helped," Bail agreed formally – though with no malice.

"I thought I had controlled the situation so well – "

"Mmm- _hmm_."

"I had no idea how to tell you about him," she laughed, her face flushing.

"Yes, well," Bail said, effecting an exasperated, sigh. " _Now_ look how far it's gone. Nearly irreversible."

"Permanent, if I have anything to say about it," Leia agreed, affixing a solemn look to her face.

She held the look for a moment, and then smiled, leaning forward a little – to resume her earlier comment.

"When you said I looked like my mother, I wondered if you meant Mama," she said quietly, taking a small breath, "or Padmé."

She lifted her brow a little because now, just as she had then, she thought of Breha, and her olive skin and dark, dark hair, sharp black brows – and Leia had always been fair skinned, and her hair had been dark in a way that was vaguely auburn, rather than brunette, and her eyes were a warm hazel-brown next to Breha's.

Bail nodded – an understandable question, and he found himself answering it honestly.

"You look like Padmé, Leia," he said. "It isn't overt. It isn't so much that you'd be recognized instantly by anyone who knew her. You have her eyes," Bail went on, "and there was a particular resemblance when you cut your hair."

Leia considered him a moment.

"When you refer to my mother, I think of _Breha_ , Father," she said softly. "The woman I _called_ mother my entire life."

"Of course you do – I _want_ you to," he answered earnestly. "I hope that you'll always consider Breha and I to be your parents. It's only that I do not believe I should rob Padmé of that title, either. She didn't give you up out of spite, or carelessness, or any selfish desires. And knowing Breha as well as I did, she would have honored Padmé's part in your life. Without her, we would never have had you."

Leia compressed her lips tightly.

"Not without _him_ , either," she said hoarsely.

Bail lifted his shoulders slightly as he agreed.

"The galaxy is full of so many frustrating, bitter shades of grey, is it not?" he asked.

"Shades of black capes," Leia whispered, almost wryly.

Bail smiled slightly, and nodded, leaning back.

"If you'll allow me to say something almost nonsensical, now," he went on, "there are times when I look at you, and I do see Breha. Physical resemblances aside, she's the woman who raised you, and she certainly left a shadow of herself against your skin."

Leia's lashes dipped, overwhelmed for a moment.

"Father, if I was half as good a woman as Mama was – "

"Don't start with that," Bail interrupted gently. "You and Breha faced different trials in life. Goodness of heart exists even if you've held a blaster, Leia," he paused, "even if you've killed."

Leia bowed her head, and Bail leaned forward again to take her hands.

"Now, we're coming up on your walk down the aisle," he said matter-of-factly, though gently, "and I have a gift for you."

Leia nodded – she had been looking forward to whatever her father thought to give her. He'd always been remarkably good with gifts, and not in a way that was ostentatious or meant to spoil her, but meaningful – he'd always given her things that made her happy, but were practical in some way.

Bail sat back and reached into his robes, taking a small box out of the inside pocket. He held it in his hands for a moment, and then presented it forward – it was carved of some sort of dark red wood, and when Leia leaned forward to take it, there was a fragrant scent emanating from it.

Leia hesitated with her hands on it, holding it between them.

"This looks like Hydenock," she said, thinkin of Alderaanian forests near Aldera.

Bail nodded, grinning.

"Yes," he agreed. "It is – it's not the species particular to Alderaan, of course, but it's a strain variant that grows on Naboo," he explained. "One of the many survivors in the Diaspora had settled in Theed, and I commissioned this for you – see," he noted, pointing out the elegant carvings, "he could easily remember the native butterflies and songbirds," Bail paused, smoothing his palm over the cover, "I was aware you hadn't decided what to do with your name, so I only requested he carve your device on the top."

He removed his hand, and Leia took a turn running her palm over it – the falcon on the solar flare.

She smiled, and pulled the box into her lap – a jewelry box, or a keepsake box, made from the bark of a tree she'd been so familiar with at home, but that had grown in a different place, on Padmé Naberrie's planet.

"Open it," Bail encouraged.

"Don't tell me there's something inside of it. This is more than enough."

" _Open_ it, Leia."

She did.

" _Father_ ," she gasped, one hand flying to her chest.

Her fingers brushed delicately over the sole item he'd placed in the box – one of the crown jewels Carlist's' contractors had recovered; the bracelet, with the thin chains and the four rings for her fingers.

"I can't take this," Leia said, lifting her eyes. "This belongs to Alderaan."

Crown jewels were monarchy property, passed from ruler to ruler, beholden to the anointed.

Leia took the jewelry in her hand and held it, and her father took her knuckles and curled them around it.

"It's yours," he said warmly. "We agreed that the crown jewels would go to the Memorial Museum," he said.

It had been Leia's idea, and after some persuasion, Rouge agreed; there was an arrangement in which other wealthy royals purchased the jewels for large sums, after which Bail donated the proceeds to the relief efforts and the new owner donated the jewel back to the Alderaanian Museum.

"This one, I kept for you. I think you were ten the first time Breha let you wear it, and it was much too big," Bail remembered fondly. "I have no qualms passing it to you. If you are to be the last Princess of Alderaan, then pass this piece of our house down in your family."

Leia only nodded in acceptance – resisting a gift such as this would be disrespectful in the worst of ways, and aside from that, she wanted it.

"Will you wear it today?" Bail asked.

Leia nodded again. She clicked the box shut gently, set it higher on her knee, and wordlessly handed her father her left hand, letting him take the bracelet to fasten it on.

"There," he said, adjusting it at her wrist, so it fit right where her sleeve ended, and snugly fit around every finger except her thumb. He held her hand up, placed lightly in his, and nodded fittingly.

Leia tilted her head admiring it, and she smiled – brilliantly. Her father stood, and she stood after him, lowering her hand a little, holding it near her shoulder. They both heard the telltale knock on the door, and a moment later, Winter opened it and poked her head in – she said nothing, for there was nothing to say.

She left the chapel door open and reteated; Leia pictured her walking up the aisle, and take her place next to Luke, and just across from Han and Chewbacca, waiting for her.

Everyone out there was waiting to see _her,_ and everyone out there was about to witness the aristocracy of Alderaan giving Han _the_ most powerful endorsement.

Her father led her to the door, out into the narthex of the cathedral, and to the flower-laden archway that opened into the sanctuary. He turned and leaned in to kiss her cheek, smiled at her warmly, and then straightened – and at the first tone of music, started down the aisle.

* * *

The ceremony felt surreal, but Leia immersed herself in the experience, memorizing every moment of it. She catalogued her feelings, the scenes, the people and words and music surrounding her, as indissoluble memories.

There were so many eyes on her, on the altar – three hundred and seventy-five, specifically; that was the final count of aristocrats, dignitaries, and other beings of galactic importance that had earned an invite to the ceremony itself. The reception would boast of many more, but for this, three hundred and then some was enough, and despite their full attention on her, Leia's attention had narrowed with fine focus to the altar she knelt in front of, and Han's hands clasped tightly in hers across the middle of it.

She heard only Carlist's clear, steady voice in her ear as he read through the traditional missives – and when she lifted her eyes slightly, looking around through her lashes, she only looked as far as Chewbacca, standing proudly off behind Han, or Luke, standing just to the side of her with Winter, grinning from ear to ear to ear.

If she spared a moment for the crowd, it was only a subtle glance to her father and Aunt Rouge in seats of honor in the front row.

For the most part, though, she kept her eyes on Han's hands, or on Han himself – and Han certainly had no interest in looking anywhere but at her. She sensed he was dealing with his discomfort concerning the public attention by pretending it was _only_ her there with him, and she helped with that all she could, holding his hands tightly, her thumbs running lightly over his wrists.

He kept smiling at her, and then composing his face sternly as if he weren't supposed to smile.

She smiled back every time.

"Princess Leia, General Solo," Carlist said, taking one step towards them, closing the space between himself and the altar. "In the final part of this ceremony, I will lead you in your vows. You have chosen to consecrate this union with traditional vows?"

Leia inclined her head; Han nodded his.

"If you will loosen your hands for a moment," Carlist directed, bowing his head. "Your Highness, if you will interlace your fingers. General, wrap your hands around the bride's."

Han did so, and Leia felt his hand shake just slightly before they fastened over hers tightly.

"Follow my lead," Carlist began. " _With soundness of mind and no reservations, I, Han Solo, take you, Leia, to be my wife_ ," there Carlist paused, to give Han appropriate time to start his repetition.

Leia had her eyes on their hands, so when Han hesitated – or seemed to hesitate – she looked up, and he seemed to be waiting for that. She couldn't define the look on his face. He seemed to have to steel himself for the words, and her stomach turned nervously as the silence went on – until he spoke.

She saw him glance over her shoulder for the barest second as he did it, and she knew he was looking at Rouge – and only when he was a few words in did she realize he was giving his vows in her mother language.

He was speaking _Alderaanian_ – _with soundness of mind and no reservations, I, Han Solo, take you, Leia to be my wife_ –

She understood the words perfectly, even if they were a little off-kilter on Han's tongue, a little uneven and unfamiliar. He was slow because he was careful to pronounce them right, and his Corellian drawl seemed to add an element of sexuality to the language that she'd never heard before.

Lea tightened her hands in his, brushing her fingertips against his warm palms, her lips parting, her breath catching in her throat.

Carlist himself seemed surprise, and he paused a moment; he'd been told the ceremony would all be in Basic, and it seemed he hesitated on whether or not to continue in it.

He ultimately chose to do so, no doubt for the benefit of guests who wouldn't understand the language.

"—without fail I am committed, and I will be true, when it is easy in the best of times, and most importantly, when it is difficult in the worst of times – "

And again, Han repeated back the words in Alderaanian, and Leia knew, implicitly, that he had sought Rouge out to teach him this.

"— _in you I have found what I do not want to live without; I choose you on this day, and every day hereafter. I will love and honor you all the days of my life."_

Han finished speaking, and looked down at their hands for a moment. He looked back up at her with _the_ most gorgeous smirk – the likes of which she'd never seen from him – smug, sparkling, delighted with himself, proud, and Leia bit back a quiet laugh, if only because she was afraid if she loosened her jaw at all, she'd lose control over the tears pricking her eyes.

Carlist cleared his throat, and turned slightly in her direction, inclining his head. As he'd been instructed, Han loosened his grip on her hands, and Leia slid hers out from between them, touching Han's wrists, then running her fingers over his knuckles gently as he put his hands together and let her mimic the same position he had been in.

She held his hands so tightly, her eyes on him, and Carlist began again, while words crashed together in Leia's mind – did she respond in kind, in Alderaanian? Did she dust off her Corellian and blow his mind – stick with Basic? He had thrown her off in such a beautiful way –

Carlist finished his customary direction, and Leia opened her mouth to repeat. She paused, cleared her throat as best she could, and chose Basic – Basic, because she wanted everyone in this sanctuary to hear her, and _understand_ her, as she claimed Han, and because though it was clearly done as a gesture to Rouge, and the ceremony in general, Han speaking in a language foreign to him was his way of keeping privacy to his words, and Leia was used to public forums.

"With soundness of mind and no reservations, I Leia Amidala of House Organa, take you, Han, to be my husband – "

She followed through the rest of her vows, doing her best to keep the subtle tremor out of her voice. Her words were unwavering, but a little hoarse, carefully constructed – she spoke more with her eyes than with her words, wanting to say so much more than what these generic vows conveyed – but that was for him, and only him, away from prying eyes and eager ears.

"…in you I have found what I do not want to live with out," she managed to get that far without her voice breaking, and she set her shoulders back and lifted her head gracefully as she realized she wasn't going to make it. "I choose you on this day, and every day hereafter," she paused, closing her eyes briefly. "I will love and honor you all the days of my life."

She fell silent, opened her eyes, and Han tilted his head at her – and she punctuated the statement when a soft laugh that was visible to those watching – she smiled at him brightly, and confidently, and didn't break her grip on his hands to tend to the two tears near her eyes.

"Master Skywalker," she heard Carlist say gruffly, "if you will hand me the matrimonial pendant."

Leia looked aside briefly as Luke stood forward, and her brother grinned at her with his caring, sandy smile, eyes full of happiness, and she smiled back, her hands slipping down to Han's wrists and holding him.

She held on, and then let go, drawing her hands to herself and sitting back on her knees as was customary for this part – as Han stood up at Carlist's behest, and waited to be handed the pendant.

"You may fasten this pendant around your bride's neck," Carlist murmured.

Han took steady steps around the altar and around behind Leia to do so, and Leia heard very soft, kind-hearted titters of laugher as, due to their extreme height different, he went to one knee to fasten it on.

She felt his hands against the back of her neck, gentle, adjusting the clasp – she'd decided she wanted to have it fused on, but she would have it done later, perhaps on their honeymoon. For now, he merely latched it, and adjusted the chain so that it fell right in the dip of her gown.

He rested his hands on her shoulders, remaining kneeling. He pressed his thumbs against her collarbone soothingly. She turned her head slightly towards him, but towards the guests. Rouge had her head turned down into a handkerchief; Bail had his hand on her shoulder in support.

Leia smiled a little wryly; she knew Rouge was happy for her, but it was slightly amusing to envision her hiding from the sight of her niece marrying a smuggler –

"Han Solo and Leia Organa," Carlist began in a ringing voice, "the vows you have taken in this sacred place commit you to one another under divine blessing. Your union is yours to cultivate, yours to render unbreakable, and yours to thrive in. May it be all that you wished; may you remember always that it is your _will_ which makes it last."

He stepped back, placing his hands behind his back at ease, and turning his head to Han with a small smile. Leia felt Han reach out and touch her intricate braids, a preliminary run through to find the pins.

"Han," Carlist announced for all to hear: "It is now your privilege to unbraid your new wife's hair."

Han's touch was hesitant at first, pulling out the first pin – then finding a thin gold ribbon, and loosening that, and then he worked through the braid as simply as Leia had told Rouge he'd be able to. His touch was determined, but dexterous and gentle – ticklish against her scalp, and Leia laughed that quiet, reserved laugh again.

She laughed because it felt lovely, his hands in her hair, and she laughed at what a sweet sort of charade it was, to have him loosen her hair as if he'd never seen it down before.

He scattered pins on the floor and ran his fingers through, careful to leave her crown of vines and flowers intact, and then he was standing, offering her his hand. Leia stood, gripping his fingers tightly to steady her, and Han pulled her towards him.

She placed her palm against his chest, because he nearly took her off her feet, and he'd already pressed his mouth to hers before Carlist told him he could, which Leia was sure probably drew a stern look from her father.

She hardly cared.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Carlist announced, even as Han was still kissing her, "I present to you – " Carlist paused suddenly, and Leia sensed it was a mortified paused, because she realized she had been so indecisive with her name that she'd – completely forgotten to advise him of what introduction she wanted.

She broke her kiss with Han and leaned in to whisper –

"Our names, just give our names."

She flashed him an apologetic smile, and turned back to Han, toe to toe with him, head tilted up.

"—Princess Leia Organa and General Han Solo, bound together in a marriage sanctioned."

Han slid his arm around her waist and pulled her into his side, smirking down at her as applause _erupted_ from the sanctuary seating. Leia breathed out in relief, and laughed – she laughed almost to avoid crying, though of course the tears were positive tears. Han reached over to brush his thumb across her cheek and she leaned in to hug him, snuggling into his side where she belonged.

It felt like an eternity that she stood there with him, the center of attention, unapologetic and exhilarated, before she and Han stepped down from the dais, and walked down the aisle and out of the main cathedral into a quiet, private moment in the chapel.

He turned to her when the door shut and pulled her close, his lips at her ear.

"I love you," he murmured gruffly. " _I love you_."

Leia slid her arms up behind his shoulders and held onto him tightly. She could barely get the words out in return – and yet that had never mattered, because as always, he already knew.

* * *

Nestled in a quiet, reflective part of Coruscant, very near the Alderaanian Embassy stood the Alderaanian Memorial Museum. It had once been merely a home to classic art and history from the planet, as casual as any other planet's museums, but since the gala, it had been renovated beautifully and turned into a breathtaking shrine honoring the culture of the fallen planet.

Leia had elected to hold her wedding reception here, where massive, spacious rooms with high-ceilings could accommodate large amounts of people. She decided the reception would double as the grand re-opening of the Museum since its closure for dedication; architects, interior designers, artists, collectors, and so many others had worked tirelessly to make it ready.

The main exhibit hall – where hung a collection of stunning Alderaanian Moss Paintings, priceless in that they were made from flora that was now extinct forever – provided the space for the main event, though additional rooms were furnished with all of the trappings for dining and dancing.

The celebration mirrored the gala in its attention to Alderaanian history, society, and resilience, though overall, it had a slightly more political aura, as so many aristocrats and dignitaries of foreign importance were in attendance, and Leia's marriage was as much a statement in love as it was in removing herself from a particular kind of politics.

Seated at the main table with Han at her side – close by her side, at that, so close that his arm had hung lazily around her shoulder for most of the evening – Leia was invigorated by a sense of power and contentment she hadn't quite felt before. She had what she wanted – she had Han – and it wasn't just precious to her because it was one thing in her life that wasn't strategic, or part of a carefully laid political game, it was precious because with her hand in matrimony off the market, her place in diplomacy would solely be about her intellectual merit.

Late into the evening, the austerity of the reception had died down; Leia had exhausted her efforts in receiving guests and greeting them with quick thanks and regal words – Han had shaken more hands in an hour than he had in his entire life, and he'd managed to verbally offend only one being – two, if you counted the Mandalorian minister, which Leia did not, because he had been leering at her.

The requisite traditions were completed: Leia had taken the ornate, delicate pins used in her hairstyle and bestowed them on other Alderaanian women, Dansra among them; Han had cut a circlet of lace from the sleeve of her gown and tossed it into the crowd of guests – Lando made a point of catching it, and Han was less than thrilled about that turn of events.

Only the remnants of a six course meal were left; confections were available, and the cake had been cut – there was little left to do but relax and mingle, enjoy the company, if one could enjoy a largely impersonal crowd – before they departed later for bed, and then in the early hours of morning for their honeymoon, there would be a final toast, led by Leia's father, to send them off.

Until then, there were various quiet toasts, smatterings of well wishes, and people moved around tables and around the room, swaying to music, admiring artwork, laughing – it was demure mayhem, and Leia was enveloped in the center of it, reveling in what a relief it was to be surrounded by a benediction of her relationship with Han rather than a judgment of it.

The select few Media representatives who had been invited to cover the event both in print and in film for the HoloNet were certainly having the time of their lives. They had already captured more than enough footage to assuage the nosy public.

Leia leaned forward at her table, elbows placed neatly on each side of her plate, cocking her head towards Han slightly as he said something. He was asking about Luke –

Leia turned her head back slightly.

"Her name is Gaeriel Captison," she answered quietly. "She was interim Republic governor of Bakura, after we won it from the Empire."

Han leaned forward, his arm sliding from Leia's waist to her shoulder, curling around her arm. He smirked, tilting his head. Leia waved her hand in a subtle manner at the two – Luke had been engaged in conversation with Ambassador Captison for well over an hour.

"She ran for Minister after we solidified the Constitution last month," Leia murmured. "She lost, but her opponent named her Ambassador. Amicable elections."

"She's here 'cause she's a head of state?" Han asked.

He was finding it hard to keep up with who was here and why, and in some cases, Leia had barely heard of the people who had merited an invite – but Gaeriel, she knew, at least somewhat.

"The Captisons were political royalty," she murmured. "Influential on Bakura – Gaeriel was three years ahead of me at the Diplomatic Academy; she was expelled when I was fourteen."

"What'd she do?" Han asked, bemused.

"I haven't the slightest idea, I only attended the summer courses when my father was on Coruscant for the summer Senate," Leia murmured, "and, he refused to tell me what she did."

Han snorted.

"So, Luke's got himself an older woman and a bad girl."

"I wouldn't read too much into the expulsion from that Academy," Leia said dryly. "I got six demerits all pertaining to vulgar or inappropriate nail lacquer."

Han turned his head into her ear.

"What's vulgar or inappropriate?" he asked.

Leia wiggled her fingers.

"Red tips," she said. "Purple tips," she listed. "Black polish." Leia grinned. "My parents were rather furious that the school thought they allowed vulgar nail polish, except for the black. Father did not like the black."

"Why black?" Han asked.

Leia shrugged.

"I was fourteen and it pissed off Father," she murmured.

Han grinned, and turned back to look at Luke, tilting his head.

"He's next," he decided.

"Next?" Leia quoted.

"Down the aisle," Han drawled wickedly.

His hand crept up to the back of her neck and he curled his fingers lightly in her hair. She hadn't bothered pulling it back after the wedding, though she was considering asking Winter to fix it into a loose, neat braid.

"Ah, you're a matchmaker now?" Leia asked smugly, arching her brows. "Determined to affiance Luke to someone worthy?" she laughed. "You ought to get with Rouge on that."

Han pulled her head towards him and kissed her temple, grinning.

"Hey, I just want the kid to be as happy as I am," he said charmingly.

Leia scrunched up her nose and tried to escape his embrace, turning her nose up.

"You're getting soft, Solo," she accused.

Han took the back of her chair in one hand and pulled it closer with a loud scrape, sliding his arm around her waist again. He leaned her backwards and she laughed, blushing several shades of red and pink as he bent down to kiss her dramatically.

She heard the telltale electric snap of a holograph and thought – _that was probably a damn good picture._

Han's head dipped forward slightly, and he scowled, breaking away, turning his head. He let Leia up for air, and as she straightened her seat, she realized her Father had walked by, and Han was rubbing the back of his head.

Bail looked at his palm, and then at Han sternly.

"There is plenty of time to maul her later," he said darkly, gesturing to the crowd.

Han turned to Leia seriously.

"Hear that, Sweetheart? I get to _maul_ you later," he bared his teeth at her, and growled – and Leia covered her mouth with a shrill giggle, leaning back in her seat, and felt her father looking at her as if to ask, with bemusement – _what's gotten into you?!_

Leia turned in her seat.

"I've seen Aunt Rouge enjoying herself, Father; are you?" she asked, arching a brow pleasantly.

They both took a moment to glance at Rouge, who was having a very serious conversation with the envoy from Hapes, a female cousin of Prince Isolder, about the sort of fabric that should be used for designer handbags.

Bail smiled wryly and nodded. He stepped closer, and gestured outward.

"I've busied myself initiating our little scam for the press," he said seriously. "That young man from channel fourteen is under the impression that I, in my feeble-minded old age, let slip that you'll be vacationing on Borleias."

Leia gave him a relieved look, fingers running over the pendant at her throat. More so than the wedding, it was what to do about the honeymoon had plagued them perhaps the most. They had difficulty choosing a destination, and when they did, they wanted it kept completely secret, so much so that Bail had ultimately had the information classified at a high level under the guise of safety reasons.

Han was the one who suggested the idea that they stratify a series of leaks – an obvious one, which would be recognized as a clear attempt at misdirection, and then two more subtle ones from members of the family.

Bail had been impressed with the suggestion, and when he'd asked Han how he'd thought of it, Han had vaguely responded that it was a basic counterintelligence tactic he learned at the Academy.

"I knew you were useful for a something," Han told Bail seriously.

The Viceroy rolled his eyes, and Leia reached up to take her father's arm lightly.

"Send Luke over my way if you go by him," she said earnestly. He nodded, and she went on, glancing towards Han for a moment: "Han and I will take our leave soon," she confided.

Bail nodded, understanding the meaning – his final toast would essentially be the moment that sent Leia and Han off into their first night together – hardly the event it would have been if Leia was still as protected and chaste as she'd been on Alderaan – and then, in the morning, to their married life.

"I believe Carlist wishes to speak with you just before I give the toast," he said, and started to continue his walk.

"Hey," Han called, leaning back. He jerked his chin towards Luke. "What'd she get expelled from school for?" he asked wryly.

Bail looked confused, and then looked over at Gaerial. He gave Leia a stern sort of look and then shook his head, sighing.

"Gossip is demeaning, Leia," he advised.

Leia gave him an affronted look.

"I didn't ask," she protested, elbowing Han in the ribs. He scooted back and put his hand protectively over the spot, while Bail arched a brow at Leia pointedly.

"She had a holo scandal back home on Bakura," he said vaguely.

"What kind?" Leia asked, interested.

"The same one _you_ almost had," her father retorted pointedly. He gave her another look, and strode off, leaving Leia to give Han a somewhat sheepish look.

Han laughed at her, and slung his arm back across her shoulders.

"Luke's gonna have a good night if that keeps going well for 'im," he decided.

Leia leaned forward on her elbows again, moving her chair closer to Han's. She didn't see Luke having a particularly good time if he involved himself with someone politically important, she herself still harbored the slight hope that he would rekindle his interest in Dansra.

"This wedding was outstandingly beautiful, Your Highness."

Leia looked up at the warm compliment, and before she could answer it, Lando was leaning across the table, reaching out to cuff Han around the ears affectionately.

"She made an honest man out of you!" he teased, drowning out Tendra's calm and collected words.

Leia rose to her feet so she could shift forward and kiss Tendra's cheek. Han was busy swatting Lando away, and engaging in a significant amount of verbal abuse. Tendra shook her head at them, and held up the scarp of Leia's dress Lando had caught, arching her brows.

"Tell me something, Princess Leia," she said, an almost pained expression on her face, "What does catching this mean in your culture?"

Leia shrugged, tilting her head at it.

"In general, it merely means good luck," she explained.

Tendra pursed her lips.

"You see, on Saccoria, our ceremonies involve a garter around the thigh – flung into the audience – and whoever catches it is allegedly next to be married."

Leia laughed.

"Nothing like that," she promised, tilting her head. "Though I think Han told me Corellia has tradition akin to that – it involved my leg being exposed; my Aunt disallowed it," she confided.

"Well, we all have uptight aunts," Tendra said wryly. "Lando," she snapped, without looking over there. "It doesn't mean you have to marry me."

Lando was in the middle of mocking Han about something, and stopped, looking over. He took the scrap of dress from Tendra's hand, and frowned.

"You mean now I've got to propose because I _want_ to?" he turned to Leia and scowled. "Why'd you go and tell her that?"

Leia looked amused, and Tendra rolled her eyes, hooking her arm through Lando's.

"Congratulations, Princess," she said, and Leia sat back down, thanking her – Han leaned over.

"He thought catching it meant he had to get married next or he'd be cursed," he snorted. "He was gonna use it as a way to ask her without losing his persona as a bachelor."

Leia rolled her eyes, unable to remark on that before they were approached by Luke and Winter, Luke with a fresh, excitable look on his face, and Winter with Tycho Celchu on her arm.

"You have so many fascinating friends, Leia," Luke said immediately.

"Yes," Leia inclined her head. "Gaeriel is incredibly talented – I should warn you that her family does not trust the Force."

Luke beamed, and shrugged – he'd never shied away from a challenge.

"Bail sent me over – shall I," he bent forward, bowing dramatically, "go accidentally tell the press you're spending your honeymoon on Naboo?"

He straightened up, lifting his brows – he was the third part of the plan. Initially, Leia had authorized someone to start a rumor that they would be going to Corellia, which had numerous luxurious, private resorts. She had then had it leaked that they would be going to Spira, which was where most expected them to go anyway; it was the resort playground of the rich and famous. Bail had been in charge of directing them to Borleias, and Luke was in charge of the subtlest slip of all.

Leia had enlisted Pooja Naberrie's help with it; Luke was to be overheard having a quiet discussion with her about Naboo's assistance in providing extra security for one of their Lake Country chalets.

"As soon as Pooja positions herself in a conversation with a HoloNet reporter, cut in and pull her to the side," Leia instructed.

Luke nodded, happy to help, and thrilled to be trusted; he wanted Han and Leia to have as much uninterrupted private time as possible. It was also killing two birds with one stone, really; Leia had introduced Pooja and Luke in order to orchestrate this little charade, but in doing so she'd also held Pooja to her promise to organize a visit for Luke to Naboo's historical archives.

Luke was delighted to have a chance to explore, and be so close to family – and Leia was grateful for Pooja's help. Though Pooja was the only Naberrie who had been included in the wedding invitations, Leia thought it nice to have her there; she was family, even if Leia had taken no steps towards revealing the connection yet.

"I think this is going to work nicely," Winter remarked sagely. "HoloNets wrote off Corellia almost as soon as it was mentioned; too obvious – they know you're trying to divert them. They'll expect Spira as a second choice, but you have it set so they'll focus more on Borealis or Naboo."

Han looked over at Leia with a wry grin.

"Yeah," he agreed slyly, "so, we'll have a nice time on Corellia."

Leia nodded, lifting her chin smugly – when it came right down to it, that was where she wanted to go, and she didn't have to ask Han twice. He loved Corellia, and she remembered it as the place she started to find her footing in the post-Imperial world.

Luke pulled a chair out and sat down next to Leia, leaning forward to hug her.

"I'm happy for you," he said quietly, pulling back, his eyes bright. He held up his hand, twisting it as he tried to find words. "You feel so – so at ease, so alive."

"I _am_ , Luke," she promised.

He smiled at her again, squeezing her shoulder – and he hoped it would remain that way from here on out, though he knew there were no guarantees in life.

"Hey, buddy," Han's exclamation drew Leia's attention, and he stood to greet Chewbacca.

The Wookiee, accompanied by his mate and son, wrapped Han into a fierce hug and ruffled his hair, roaring well wishes. Mall stood at his side politely, turning protective, proud eyes on both Han and Leia – she'd been formally introduced days earlier, upon her arrival on Coruscant. She and Lumpy had graciously accepted Chewbacca's room in Han and Leia's apartment.

"Malla," Leia murmured, standing up to greet her.

 _[Your Highness]_ Malla returned gently. _[We wanted to wish you well before the final toast – it is time for my son to sleep, and we will depart soon]._

They were staying in Han and Leia's apartment again this evening, as Leia had elected to spend her wedding night on the _Falcon_.

Leia rose up to give a kiss to Lumpy's cheek, and then she came forward to hug Malla, scratching her finger's to the side of her neck the way Han often did to Chewie as a sign of friendship.

Malla murmured a soft, Wookiee prayer blessing, and then pulled back, giving Leia a stern look.

 _[You take care of him, Princess]_ she advised.

Leia nodded earnestly – she had taken to Malla immediately upon meeting her; Malla was one of the only beings thus far who worried that Han could be the one to get hurt; she seemed to care for him almost like a mother.

"I will, Malla," she agreed. "Chewie," she added, nodding, and leaning forward to accept his hug, as well.

She stood amongst friends with Han, knowing the time for the toast was approaching – indicated by Carlist approaching her with a slim, silver-wrapped bottle in his arms.

She took Han's sleeve and took a step back away from the fray, moving up to him.

"Carlist," she greeted. "Father said you wanted to speak with me before the toast," she noted.

Han folded his arms, standing so close behind Leia that his chest touched her shoulders. Carlist nodded, looking at them both thoughtfully. He cleared his throat, and held out his arms, cradling the bottle in his palms delicately.

"It wasn't so much words I wanted to share as it was this gift," he said gruffly. "I came across it in one of my hunts. Stumbled across it, really. I kept it with the intention of giving it to you at your wedding."

Leia took the bottle, her lips pursing curiously.

"The Viceroy is going to lead with a toast of Arallute gin," Carlist explained. He pointed at the bottle. "This is for you to share with Han, and Han alone," he looked up at Han, intent on explaining: "Your first toast as husband and wife is supposed to be shared from a bottle of wine with an unbroken seal, shared throughout the first year."

Han nodded, looking down at the bottle with interest. Leia turned it over slightly, and then took a ribbon at the neck, loosening it. She pulled back the paper slowly, revealed the label, and let the trappings fall at her feet, her eyes widening.

She didn't make a sound as she lifted the bottle to eye level, reading the language.

" _Carlist_ ," she breathed, her throat constricted.

She never thought she'd see a bottle again. It was so rare, so valuable even when Alderaan was alive and thriving – to see it now, when the planet had been swallowed into nothingness for years –

"What is it?" Han asked, looking at Carlist.

Leia could only compress her lips and turn to him, reverently displaying the label – which, of course, he could not read.

"Isatabith wine," Carlist supplied. "It was made from rain forest pears native only to Alderaan," he explained.

Han rested his hands on Leia's shoulders in support, raising his brows at Carlist.

"I reckon you outdid yourself, Rieekan," he said gruffly.

"As I said, it merely fell into my hands," he answered. "I couldn't think of anything better to do with it, other than give it to you, for this purpose."

He looked between them, and took a deep breath.

"It was an honor to preside today," he said, leaning forward to boldly kiss Leia's forehead. He reached out to clap Han on the shoulder firmly. "I would wish you luck, but I don't think it's needed. You two will be fine."

Leia handed Han the bottle of wine to lean forward and hug him tightly, swallowing hard to regain control of her voice.

"Thank you, Carlist," she said softly, stepping back. "For _everything_ ," she whispered, emphasizing the last word – everything he had done since she had lost her family and her world, and everything he had done today to make this whole affair flawless.

He inclined his head respectfully, and he was stepping back even as Bail stepped up to the high table, and called for silence.

The people around Han and Leia respectfully dispersed to give everyone a view of them, and Leia drew two wine glasses towards her, placing the bottle between them to wait.

"It has come to the hour when we must send the bride and groom on their way," Bail said formally, holding up his glass. "The festivities are welcome to continue well after their departure; I and all of Alderaan are happy to share in the celebration." He turned towards Han and Leia, extending his glass. "I must confess I have given my daughter away to a very different man than I imagined," he began, drawing some laughter from the crowd. "However, that only goes to show how dynamic the future is, and how ill-advised preconceived notions can be. First impressions are by no means the only impressions, and this evening I am happy to see Princess Leia married to General Solo. I am sure there are many who cannot fathom how a union of two people with such vastly different backgrounds and experiences can work, but to that I can only say that harmony in diversity is the only thing that engenders peace."

Bail paused, and Leia felt Han giving her a look – she blushed, and looped her arm through his for a moment – her father's prose was ostentatious, perhaps, but he was bred to speak that way, and it was meaningful.

"Han and Leia," he said, lifting his glass higher.

Their names were echoed all around, and Bail was stationary, waiting. Leia turned to Han and nodded at the bottle, clearing her throat softly. He examined the top of it for a cork, realized there was a metal fastener that needed to be severed, and pulled out his knife on instinct.

Leia heard a startled gasp firm the crowd – likely an Alderaanian, and she smiled, waving her hand soothingly at Han when he paused apologetically. He smirked, and flicked off the silver fastener, releasing the cork with a _pop_.

He measured two pours of wine into each glass, watching deep green, iridescent pine liquid swirl in the glasses. He set the bottle aside, and he and Leia picked up their glasses, and returned the toast.

She turned to him, her turned to her, and they each took a sip.

Leia closed her eyes with the wine touched her tongue, savoring it, and all the memories it brought; she was alone for a moment, back on Alderaan, the applause from the reception guests drowned out, and then she opened her eyes and Han was looking at her with a strange look on his face.

She laughed, touching the glass to her teeth lightly. She reached for his arm, and pulled his ear to her mouth.

"You hate it," she guessed.

Han grimaced regretfully.

"It's – ah, bitter," he admitted.

She pulled back and caught his eye.

"It's an acquired taste," she murmured. "Rather sweet, when you get used to it."

He raised his brows.

"That a metaphor, Sweetheart?"

She ran her hand over his face.

"Come here, you."

She kissed him, closing her eyes to savor the taste of that wine on his lips, the flavor of her beloved old world there on his tongue; cherished, not forgotten.

* * *

In the late hours of the evening, beneath Alderaan's most famous moss painting, Leia and Han were alone, on the verge of departure, secluded from the guests in a more private room.

They remained for one final act, one ultimate signature, that would legally bind them for the rest of their lives. Bail and Carlist conversed with the magistrate, and Leia stood next to Han in front of an ornate table. It had once held their wedding cake; now it held two copies of a marriage license; one electronic, for intergalactic records, and one a delicate, antique hard copy, common on Alderaan.

Leia reflected silently on the empty spaces for their signatures, waiting to be handed her quill. She was tired in the most exhilarated way, and she ached to be on her way to the _Falcon,_ and then to Corellia – peace, _quiet_ , time for only them.

Footsteps, and they all approached, the magistrate bowing low.

"This document will ensure your union is recognized in all galactic courts accredited by the New Republic, Your Highness," he explained softly. "Your marriage will be formalized public record and inarguable under any standards."

Leia and Han both nodded, and Bail smiled at her – he and Carlist acted as witnesses, each stepping forward to sign their names first, and then step respectfully back.

Han's signature was swift and aggressive, his name – _Han Solo_ – scrawled possessively across the page, permanent in antique black ink, and then permanent in electronic etching.

Leia took her quill from him and moved in front of the document, the tip touching the paper. Her head was steady, and her gaze lingered on her name, typed neatly on the license as it was on her Alderaanian birth certificate – _Leia A. Organa, House Organa._

She had given no announcement, or no hint, as to what she was going to do with her name after her marriage – perhaps because it had frustrated her. She had once told Han she'd take his name as a statement, and because he'd never ask her to; the return of her father had reminded her what it meant to be an Organa – and this past year, and all its trials and tribulations concerning the Skywalker and the Naberries, had impressed upon her the mysteries and complexities of both blood, nature, and nurture.

She faced this document, legally binding, and she felt absurdly like she was deciding who she was – and it was a moment of clarity for her. Her hair hung over her shoulder, brushing the parchment, and she felt whole.

Who she was was more than just her blood, and her DNA, and her powerful inheritance – it was everything that had happened to her and every person who had loved her, in every moment of her life, and only she had ever had the authority to define herself, in words, in action, and in name. She was the sole executor of her legacy, and the author of her own narrative.

In the blank space, Leia drew her quill in perfect, near calligraphy –

 _Leia Amidala Organa Solo._

Beneath it, she wrote:

 _Princess of Alderaan._

* * *

 _*I like to do all of my notes at the end of the chapter, so there are no a/n's in the Epilogue page._

 _To Mila, my beta: Thanks for taking time out of your busy college schedule, as always, to devote time to my writing. Especially since handling this for me literally required you to watch seven movies and get into a whole new fandom. I can't express how fantastic you are 're the absolute best._

 _Also - seriously thanks to everyone who stuck with this even when I got overwhelmed with "real life" and the wait was a month between updates. I really appreciate it. I've had this idea in my head since I was 13 or so, and it was such fun to write it. Never expected the sort of support it would get ! I don't plan on this being the last story in this 'verse._

 _Stick around for the Epilogue, posting next week!_

 _-Alexandra_


	32. Epilogue

.

* * *

 ** _Epilogue_**

 _[two years + several months_  
 _after the Victory over Endor]_

* * *

The Corellian sun was setting behind the mountains in the distance; its waning light was indolent and dusky, a captivating prism of burned ochre and amber-gold, and the remnants of the heady warmth of the day still lingered in the air like a fine silk cloak, settling over her skin with dry, cozy affection.

Leia tilted her head up towards that sinking sun and closed her eyes lightly, feeling her lashes brush against her own skin. She lifted a hand to push her hair back, gathering it in one hand loosely and shaking it down behind her shoulders – it was short again, layered, and naturally curling at the edges, and around her face.

She savored being back here – here, sequestered in these blessedly private mountains, where trees made up most of the wild terrain, where they were alone, and the air hummed not with traffic and Media screeching and conniving political arguments, but only with the musical hum of nocturnal insects and songbirds saying goodnight.

It wasn't the same place Han had brought her after the Battle of Endor. Though that resort had been exclusive, it was nothing like this, nothing like this place that Leia had spent months looking for, something hidden away; at first she'd sought only a trustworthy spot where she could spend her honeymoon, but the search had become something more in the end – and this chalet, this gorgeous structure nestled away from prying eyes, wasn't merely theirs for two fleeting weeks – Leia had purchased it.

She'd purchased it with Han in mind, because Corellia was where he'd been born, and where he'd cut his teeth and bared them and gnashed his way into adulthood and into the Academy; the place where he'd seen brutality and dangerous streets and learned the kind of homegrown honor that would provoke him to save a Wookiee from slavery and help a stranger from Tatooine and bring him into her path like a beacon in the midst of crushing darkness.

She purchased it for herself, for when she needed to escape somewhere and step back from the political fray and be tired or upset or bitter for a few days; a place to just be herself with Han.

She'd purchased it because she had fallen in love with this planet when he brought her here way back then – ' _back then_ ;' it wasn't so long ago, but things looked so starkly different than they had. When she'd stood on a similar balcony just after the end of the war, lost in a maelstrom of uncertainty, and she'd ached for Alderaan and home – as the fighting reached its dénouement and crystalized into burgeoning stability, she'd felt herself start to unravel.

Leia crossed her arms, brushing her fingers against her lips, then trailing her hand down her throat to the pendant at her neck, caressing it lightly. She had feared, deep down, even in spite of his confidence that he'd be there even when it was hard, and his sincere and spontaneous proposal, that it would all fall apart – and that it hadn't was – was –

It was something so singularly wonderful.

In the time since Han had whisked her away for their victory leave, the New Republic had codified an unprecedented constitution, which Leia herself had been integral in producing; hundreds of systems had pledged allegiance, Imperial influence had been rendered toothless, an Empire of ash doomed to historical infamy, and Leia felt a sense of belonging in the galaxy that she'd thought was lost when she was nineteen years old.

She turned, blinking in the fading light. The sleeve of her short, silk robe slipped down her shoulder and she left it there, taking a few steps off the balcony, back into the luxurious master bedroom. The lighting within was dim, brightening incrementally as the sun faded and the sensors picked up the change in time – and Leia leaned against the wall just inside the doorway, watching Han sleep.

The lights grew brighter still, and he shifted, first from his back to his side, and then over towards her side of the bed, his hand moving lazily over the sheets as he reached for her. His brow furrowed, and he rose up on an elbow groggily.

She smiled, and reached for the tie of her robe, loosening it, shrugging it off her shoulders to a pool at her feet. She pushed her hair back again, baring her shoulders, so when he opened his eyes and looked around, settling on her, she was a divine sight to behold, framed in muted sunlight, clad only in a matching lingerie confection of emerald green lace.

"Hey."

The word was simple and demure, and Leia followed it with a small smirk, leaning her head against her arm, looking at him through her lashes across the room.

Han stared at her, fixated. It didn't seem to matter that he'd been waking up next to Leia for – years, _years?_ the plurality of the word was strange to behold – it was different now, permanent; she wasn't just Leia standing there looking at him like that, she was his _wife_.

Leia tossed her head at the balcony behind her.

"I was enjoying the view," she said softly.

Han nodded.

"So'm I," he agreed.

She gestured delicately, waving her fingers.

"The mountains are," she sighed quietly, reflectively. "They're breathtaking."

"What mountains?" Han quipped, feigning innocence, eyes on her. He grinned at her wolfishly. "C'mere."

Leia crossed the room swiftly, crawling up on the bed in one graceful movement – palms on the sheets, her hair falling in her face, followed by her knees, and he caught her by the wrist and pulled her tumbling over onto him with a breathless laugh.

He ran his hand through her hair, catching the back of her neck in his palm and leaning forward to kiss her. The pendant of her necklace hung down over his chest, a little cool to the touch, and Leia felt him draw his hand from her neck to touch it. She drew back to watch him, and stretched out over him, her body aligned with his, thin sheets haphazardly between them here and there.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and lowered her lips to his jaw, his neck, his shoulder.

He pressed his palm, pendant in the middle of it, against her heart gently. He turned his head into her temple, breathing in and out slowly.

"Leia?" he ventured. "Have I done good?"

She lifted her head, tilting it curiously. She reached up to push his hair back, fingers curling into it loosely. She pursed her lips, silently questioning him.

"Last time we were here," he reminded her gruffly. "It upset you."

" _You_ didn't upset me," she soothed. "I only missed home."

He kept on quickly, like he hadn't been finished.

"I said all I could do was give you a new home," he repeated, and the repetition of his question hung in the air – _have I done good?_

Had he been able to make life easier for Leia in any way, big or small? He felt like he'd done all he could, done his best, and she was so happy now. She'd been better these past few months than he'd ever seen her, and he'd never known her _before_ the darkest times in her life.

Last time, she'd said – _maybe you're all I need._

He couldn't possibly have known then that within the next year, he'd lead a rescue mission that resurrected all the demons she'd strangled with proverbial chains and locked into dungeons, or that he'd be weighed and measured by the imposing figure of her father when the only opinion he'd ever cared to cater to was Leia's. He'd been there while she fought with all of it – her complex issues with Bail's ghost, and then Bail himself, the legacy of Vader, and what it meant to share his power. Had everything he'd done been enough to make her feel like she wasn't homeless, and never would be?

"You did good," Leia said against his lips, closing her eyes.

She kissed him; she rested her elbow lightly on his shoulder, and held her head up with her palm, running her other hand over his chest.

"I did warn you how hard it would be," she murmured, arching a brow in a strange sort of apology.

Han shrugged.

"You think all that was hard?" he drawled. "Your old man?" he rolled his eyes dramatically. "Or what – that Vader hellscape?" he quoted himself sheepishly.

Leia bowed her head, biting her lip, laughing, her head on his shoulder. Han scoffed.

"That ain't hard, Princess – you know what's hard, is making the Kessel Run in – "

Leia laughed harder, sliding her hand over his mouth. He nipped at her fingers and she shifted away from him, only to have him turn to his side and trap her half under him, pulling her back.

"You don't wish any of it had gone differently?" Leia asked, her voice muffled in his arm. She threw her head back on the pillow and looked at him pointedly – surely he would have liked less tears, and less – prejudicial treatment from her family, from the galaxy –

Han shrugged.

"Hmm, yeah," he retorted, arching a brow. "One thing."

"One thing," Leia repeated softly. She cocked her head expectantly, waiting. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, as if divulging a very deep, closely kept secret.

"I wish you hadn't landed us in a trash compactor," he told her, deadpan.

She blinked at him for a moment, and then narrowed her eyes primly.

"Will you _get over it_ , Princess?" she fired back sarcastically.

"No," Han answered seriously, and ran his hand down her side to pinch at her ribcage gently, tickling her.

Leia shrieked and twisted away, escaping from the onslaught. He snatched her back, and she struggled playfully, kicking the sheets off, grasping for a pillow to smack him with, until in the carefree fray she was pulled against him, her back against his chest, his hand sliding under the hooks on the back of her bra, handling them thoughtfully without unhooking them just yet.

He bowed his head into the dip of her shoulder and kissed her there, trailing kisses back up to her ear.

"You want it honest, Leia?" he asked hoarsely. He nudged her shoulder protectively. "If I could change somethin', I'd make sure they'd never hurt you."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and reached behind her to stroke his jaw silently. Opening her eyes, she had a straight view out to the balcony, where the sun was all but gone, and only its unique, just-before-dark, violet glow was lingering. She took a deep breath.

"I don't think like that anymore," she said honestly.

She paused a moment, and then turned, curled up next to him, face to face, eyes on his. He furrowed his brow, lips turning down in a small uncertain frown, and she lifted her shoulders weightlessly, nodding in silent emphasis.

"I wish Alderaan had never been punished in my name. And," she paused, and licked her bottom lip, "I wish no one had ever laid a hand on me, and that Anakin Skywalker hadn't become Darth Vader." She looked up at him fiercely. " _But_ ," she said softly. "I don't spend any time – I don't waste any time – these days dwelling on what I can't change."

She reached up to push her hair back, breathing out lightly.

"It all happened to me, and it's all part of me. What matters now is how I am going to live my life," she stroked his jaw, "with you," she said. She tapped his shoulder.

She looked at him through her lashes, coquettish.

"So, Captain Solo – are you in?"

She asked the question with polish and finesse, the right amount of mirth and innocence, and utterly rhetorical, because she knew he was – they were both in, _all_ in, headfirst and steadfast, indestructible and on the threshold of a world entirely theirs, and Leia knew, without question, exactly who she was going to be in it.

* * *

 ** _The end._**

* * *

 _-Alexandra_


End file.
